Back For More
by Ardeth Saunders
Summary: Weizmulder, the leader of the CIA Death Angels, has orders to clean Frank Donovan. Jonella “Pax” Paxton hears of the hit, and she returns, back for more. [Sequel to “Mission: Aggravation” and “Thorn In His Side.”]
1. Rehashing Pax Style

**TITLE****:  "Back For More"**

**AUTHOR****:  Ardeth Saunders [a.k.a., Cruecial or Cruecial411]**

**RATING****:  R [Language, violence, and adult content]**

**SUMMARY****:  Weizmulder, the leader of the CIA Death Angels, has orders to clean Frank Donovan.  Jonella "Pax" Paxton hears of the hit, and she returns, back for more.  [Sequel to "Mission:  Aggravation" and "Thorn In His Side."]  **

**GENRE****:  Drama, Suspense, and Action  **

**DISCLAIMER****:  _UC:  Undercover_ and its cast of characters belong to the writers, creators, NBC, and a dozen others.  NO infringement intended.  All other original characters belong solely to the sick, twisted, and vivid imagination of the author.**

**AUTHOR'S NOTE****:  First and foremost, I know nothing about the CIA.  I do not know if "Death Angels," "AOP," or "assassination" squads exist.  The plot is complete fiction and conjecture.  So big brother if you're watching, this is for entertainment purposes only!!!!  HA!**

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REHASHING PAX STYLE 

Pax stood in the hotel room more than ready to get the hell out of Dodge.  She didn't know how the fuck Weizmulder made his 'special' bullets, but when they penetrated the flesh, they _penetrated_ it.  She had never been in so much fucking pain in her entire, pathetic life.  She had almost…just _almost_…died.  She didn't remember much about that night, almost two months in the past.  The last thing she remembered before seeing Spankie's face was focusing her eyes on Mrs. Spankie right before the bullets hit.  She had recalled the shock and disbelief in the princess' eyes.  _Yeah, princess, I took a hit for **you**, you fucking dolt.  Now go get your goddamn husband and leave me the fuck alone_.  But no, uh uh, no way, hell no.  She didn't go after him [or did she].  She shook her head.  _Stupid bitch_.  Considering what happened later, of course, it was obvious that the princess didn't go back to him.  Anyway…on to other thoughts.  The next thing she knew, Spankie had taken a spot beside her bed, actually fucking touching her as if he cared what happened to her.  Once a witless fuck, always a witless fuck.  Goddamn it.  She had wanted to retire down that eternal road.  What was so bad about that?  Frankie had been where she was; he should have understood her desire.  Well, that wasn't exactly true, now was it?  Frankie had never been an AOP.  Or had he?  The fuck's CIA records were hidden so well, that no one really knew what he had actually done in the agency.  Goddamn, she'd like to dig in his records for just a few minutes, fiddle with the skeletons hanging in his perfect little stoic closet.  Ol' Spankie wouldn't allow her to go down that aisle of slumber.  Stupid fuck.  He still thought he was some high and mighty K & R man, and he assumed he had to save some lives or some shit.  Whatever.  Let the dickless wonder [_he ain't so dickless, now is he_] play Superman if it made his heart beat peanut butter.  What difference did it make to her?  The one thing that made it worse [as if things _could_ get worse] was that Spankie had brought in the higher ups who signed his paycheck.  He brought all of them, every damn one.  They knew what she had done for the princess, Spankie, and his merry band of undercover agents.  It took a few moments for her to realize what the prick was actually doing.  He was fucking trying to _help_ her again.  If the agency and the bureau had offered Spankie a way out, then they could offer the same to her.  Well, fuck that.  She didn't want it.  She wanted to be totally out of the deal forever.  _For God's sake, Pax, let us help you_, Spankie had implored after the upper brass left.  _What you did was stupid, yes, but it was also…fuck, I can't believe I'm saying this to you…heroic_.  Heroic?  She had nearly died laughing.  He was Dono-Man and she had become Pax-O-Woman.  Crazy fucking shit.  Oh yes indeedy.  _Goddamn you, Spankie.  It wasn't heroic.  I was fucking trying to protect your princess for your kid.  Do you think I honestly give a fuck about her_, she had snapped.  _No, _he had said, _you probably don't.  But you care about me.  If you didn't, you wouldn't have given a single thought to my daughter.  You kept her interests in mind and I won't forget that.  I brought these men to you and I want you to let us help_.  Grudgingly, _very _grudgingly, she accepted the 'help.'  Of course, they wouldn't set her up with a cushy new life or job such as what Spankie had, but they would at least keep her safe from the cleaners.  Despite her venom and vinegar, she didn't want to die.  She wouldn't tell Spankie that, though.  He might think she had turned human on him or something.  

After her first night in the hospital, Frankie had begun to spend an enormous amount of time with her.  She had even awakened one night to find his dumb ass sleeping in a visitor's chair.  Irritated, she had picked up a plastic cup and threw it at him.  _Get your lanky ass home.  I'm not going to fucking die_.  He had left then, but returned the next day, apparently back for more.  It hit her then.  He was guarding her, ensuring that she didn't just get up and run off.  Fucking idiot.  She was finished with the damn head games.  What would it take for him to realize that?  Oh well.  He thought he had to control everything around him, including her.  Witless fuck.  However, the weirdest thing happened two or three days after the shooting.  Spankie brought in the princess.  She watched as the newly divorced couple strolled in her room, seemingly a bit more than ex-spouses.  [_Hmmm…was that jealousy biting at my ass?  Fuck no.  Ew.  Ew.  Ew._]  They were quite _comfortable_ with each other and she had felt like a third wheel.  If she could have gotten out of bed, she would have let them have the room.  She had hoped Spankie wouldn't leave the princess alone with her, but what do you know?  The witless fuck did exactly what she didn't want him to do.  Oh yeah.  He was a man all right.  It was one of the most awkward visits she had ever had in her life.  _I want to thank you for what you did_, the princess had begun.  _You could have let it happen, but you didn't.  Even if you didn't do it for me, I will be grateful to you for not forcing me to abandon my daughter_.  God.  She hated moments like those.  She never knew what the fuck to say.  She was no damn angel [well, not in the conventional sense, anyway], no damn heroine, no damn nothing.  _Come on back, Spankie.  Come get your princess_, she had remembered thinking.  She watched in horror as the princess seated herself in one of the chairs parked relatively close to her bed.  With a pang, she realized it was the same chair that Frankie's ass had worn grooves in.  _Look, I feel pretty weird_, she had told the princess.  _There's an odd connection between us all, and it's…sorry…fucked up.  I wish you and Spa…Frank…the best.  _A little smile framed the princess' face.  _Frank and I are in limbo right now, but thanks for your sentiment.  I think once you have gone about whatever life you're cooking up for yourself; we'll work it out._  Now hold up just a fucking minute.  Had she really said that?  Had she fucking really?  Oh hell yeah.  Before she could rip a new one in the princess [_bitch_], she held up her hands.  _That didn't come out the way I wanted.  What I mean is that you're a…distraction.  I don't hold that against you.  I hold nothing against you.  What I did to Frank is on my shoulders.  I've done some stupid shit during our relationship, and this is the stupidest.  But I think he's holding onto you._  Spankie?  Holding onto Jonella fucking Paxton?  Hell no.  Not only was this bitch a dolt, but she was also pretty damn fucked in the head.  Goddamn.  _You are living in a dream world, woman_, she had spat at the bitch/princess.  _He is not fucking holding on to shit.  I told you.  We fucked twice.  Fucked.  Fucked.  Fucked.  When you fuck somebody, it doesn't mean fucking anything.  Don't you get it?  **You're** who he's holding onto, not me.  _Once again, the princess smiled at her, sympathetically almost.  God.  She had never wanted to smack a bitch more than Remy Ellis Donovan.  _Ms. Paxton, don't you see it?  Don't you?  You're a part of his old world, a part I've never known about, and one that Frank has never explored with me.  There is a connection, whether you believe that or not.  I think you love him and I think he probably loves you, too.  You probably loved each other before, didn't you?  I can't compete with you.  Not while you're here_.  Crazy fucking bitch.  It was the craziest shit she had ever heard in her life.  _Oh yeah.  He fucking loved me so much that he fucking shot me in the legs.  Woo boy!  Talk about high romance.  _Not long after their bizarre conversation, Spankie returned and retrieved his ex.  She could tell by looking at him that he knew something weird had taken place, but he wasn't sure he wanted to know.  _Hell no, you don't want to know, unless you want to wind up in the hospital with a hernia from laughing so hard_.  

Spankie returned an hour later, dying to know what happened between them, but he wouldn't press it.  If he did, she would fucking tell him.  He was one witless fuck who preferred to remain clueless.  That was all right.  She didn't want to go into it, either.  It was weird; it had been weird since they'd seen each other totally naked.  She was tired of the weirdness, tired of thinking about what happened between them.  It was fucking hilarious.  His ex thought they were in some stupid ass duel for Frankie's affection when she didn't give a ripe fuck whether she received it or not.  What would she do with it once she had it?  Women like her weren't meant to be in a permanent kind of relationship.  She'd never had one, and wasn't in the mood to have it now.  It was insane.  She scoured the recesses of her mind, drawing back from experiences between the two back in the day.  Spankie was more of a 'father' to her than anything.  He was a fucking drill sergeant.  There had been plenty of sticky situations in which they had found themselves, but despite the intensity of that, nothing really happened.  There were a couple little kissies here and there, but nothing to fucking write home about.  If she had been given the choice and/or opportunity back then, would she have considered fucking him?  _Would she_?  Oh, hell no.  She was a casual type of gal and wouldn't have minded going a round or two with him, but she wouldn't have seriously considered it.  After all, once partners became lovers, the job was never the same.  There were too many emotions involved, too damn much at stake.  Besides, it was strictly forbidden in their line of work.  Shit.  Shit.  Shit.  Spankie hadn't said much to her that entire day, and she was about five inches close to kicking his ass out of her room for good.  Goddamn.  She was no fucking home wrecker.  Bless her goddamn heart; she had _tried_ to throw them back together.  Did they listen?  Fuck no.  Oh well, their fucking loss.  She was out of it now.  _Don't you have a wife and a kid to go home to_, she had asked.  _An ex-wife, Pax.  I have an ex.  I appreciate what you tried to do, but I ask that you keep out of it.  _La dee fucking dah.  Whatever.  _You should really be fixing your marriage instead of sitting here, you know.  Go home, Spankie.  Go home and go to.  I don't need you here._  Had he listened?  Fuck no.  After all, he _was_ a man.

After her release from the hospital, Spankie had become a little bit of a bodyguard again.  He had pulled some strings and gotten her a new hotel room with a couple of FBI bulldogs stationed outside.  Weiz was still skulking about and he didn't want the lead op to find her any time soon.  She knew that if Weiz wanted her, he'd find her, even if he had to travel to the darkest reaches of Africa.  Whatever.  Spankie had tagged along with her to the hotel, showing her into her room and making sure the perimeter was secure.  She nearly laughed.  It was all so fucking strange.  He was acting as if she were some delicate flower that needed looking after.  The next thing that happened was really fucking weird.  It was something that she hadn't expected to happen in a zillion or more years.  Spankie got all mushy.  _You really scared me_, he had said.  _I thought this time that you weren't going to come out unscathed.  I've missed looking after you._  What the fuck?  Her eyes had grown large with shock.  _Uh God.  Please, please, don't let him get all mushy on me.  I just may have to say something cutting to fuck with him.  I can't take this!  _She laughed off his comment, feeling more awkward by the second.  She didn't like the mushy Spankie.  It was too fucking strange.  _Like I need looking after, you prick?  How many years have I lived without your fucking help?  God.  You think you're Jesus or something, don't you?  _He shook his head incredulously and laughed at her.  It pissed her off, of course, but a laughing Spankie was much better than a mushy one.  Ugh.  She really hated the fucking bastard sometimes.  Sighing, she had taken off to the door and threw it open, waiting for him to take the hint.  He didn't.  After all, he _was_ a man.  _Jonella, I'm sorry.  I know you don't like these types of scenes, but I meant what I said_.  She had waved her hand toward the door, giving him the 'get the fuck out' gesture.  It was as universal as flipping the el birdo.  He continued laughing and she continued giving him a murderous gaze.  As he neared the door, she planted her hand squarely between his shoulders to help him along.  _I fucking hate you, Spankie_, she had cried after him.  He had stopped in the hallway and looked back at her.  Grinning wickedly, he said, _Me too, Pax.  More than you know_.  Stupid fucker.

At about midnight the same night, Spankie made a return visit.  How long did it take for them to get out of their fucking clothes?  Two seconds?  Poor ol' Spankie was so fucking afraid that he would rip her stitches or some shit, but she hadn't exactly been shot below the waist, now was she?  It was good enough for him.  They didn't get all smack up against the door, but didn't quite make it to the bedroom, either.  Ah.  The couch.  Nice substitute in a pinch.  Goddamn.  What were they doing?  What the fuck did they think they were doing?  It sure as shit wasn't supposed to go this way, now was it?  Spankie was supposed to have gone back to his princess, groveled a little, and then returned to her.  But hell no.  What do you know?  He was back at her again, doing more damage than was already done.  Was he trying to fuck up his marriage some more?  Witless fuck.  Stupid shit.  Damn good lover.  She sort of kind of knew what brought it on, or at least she thought she did.  The last few weeks were very…intense.  They had gone at it a couple times and Spankie likely felt he had owed her something.  God.  This was so damn fucked up.  Fucked, fucked, and fucked some more.  Too damn crazy.  Near death experiences did fucked up things to people sometimes.  After, they didn't exactly feel awkward.  The last couple times he had bounced her around the room, he had basically refused to do anything more than fuck and run.  Of course, it was what she expected.  She hadn't wanted anything else.  She didn't enjoy fucking another woman's man.  It just wasn't something she did.  But that night [goddamn, it was morning, not night], he lingered with her, fucking holding her connected to his body.  God.  It was the most fucking strange ass shit that had ever happened to her.  Well, with Frankie, anyway.  There was no guilt [in him, anyway], no stupid ass apologies, no nothing.  He laid on top of her for a fucking long time, breathing heavily against her neck, and whispering something along the lines of 'oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.'  It wasn't a guilty 'oh shit' kind of thing, but more along the lines of 'I can't believe I just did that.'  And then he did the strangest thing [hadn't she thought that already].  He kissed her, and it wasn't one of those brutal 'shut the fuck up' kinds of kiss, it was soft and gentle.  God fucking damn.  She kissed back.  _Uh.  Gross.  Ew.  God.  What the fuck was I thinking_?

After that night, morning, or what the fuck ever, she had hung around for as long as she dared.  It wasn't that she had wanted to be close to Spankie [_because she didn't…ew…gross_], she had needed to hang around to continue establishing herself with the help of the non-rogue divisions of both the FBI and CIA.  What kind of job would they give an ex-CIA assassin?  Executioner?  Fuck it.  There had to be something for her somewhere else.  She had to get the fuck out of Chicago.  She hated this fucking dreary city.  She wanted to go somewhere sunny and warm.  Miami.  Fuck yeah.  Miami sounded fucking nice.  The weird shit continued with Spankie.  She had been lying in bed one night with Frankie laid out beside her.  She had stared at the ceiling for a while, thinking.  What the fuck was going on with them?  The thought was utterly disgusting, but were they having a…thing?  Oh.  Goddamn.  Gross.  Uh uh.  No way.  She hated the fuck.  Why would she have a thing with a witless fuck?  Yet, he had come to her nightly, hadn't he?  He had come to her and they had slept together every night [well, fucking ain't sleeping].  Goddamn.  Too weird.  Time to pack up the shit and take off, and that's where she was today.

She wasn't running off like she had done before.  Spankie knew exactly where she was going this time.  Of course, he had helped arrange it.  She dragged a suitcase out and began throwing her shit into it.  She couldn't believe all the shit that had piled up since she was at the hospital.  Fucking nuts.  She hated carrying all this shit.  She preferred traveling light.  She was a messy packer and didn't exactly fold anything.  She picked it up and threw it inside without bothering to make sure it wasn't wrinkled or torn.  She had to get the fuck out of Dodge [_hadn't she thought that already…_].  Shit around here was just too fucking strange these days.  Ugh.  Goddamn.  She looked up when she heard a card key clicking into the door.  She almost laughed.  _How cozy, he has his own fucking card key_.  She turned away from the door and resumed packing.  As usual, she smelled the fucker's cologne an hour before he approached her.  She ignored him for a minute and continued throwing stuff here and there into the suitcase.  She could feel Spankie's eyes on her, studying her, waiting patiently for her to acknowledge his existence.  

"Would you stop fucking staring at me," she spat as she threw a handful of underwear into the already overflowing suitcase.  "You're giving me the fucking creeps."

He backed away and put his hands on his hips.  "Excuse me, Pax.  I didn't know you had such a problem with my presence."

She sighed.  "Fuck off."

He shook his head incredulously and found his fingers going up to the bridge of his nose.  "Jonella, would you please stop for a minute?"

"Nope.  Can't.  Sorry."  She snapped the suitcase closed, leaning on the fucker for everything it was worth.  Goddamn.  She had overstuffed it.  She might have to take out the half dozen hotel robes she had stolen.  "Shit.  I need another fucking suitcase."

Taking a chance, he approached her and took hold of her arm.  He held his breath, waiting for her to smack him, but she didn't.  What was this?  A kinder, gentler Pax?  "I'm trying to say goodbye.  Your flight leaves in less than three hours."

She rolled her eyes dramatically.  "Spankie, don't get all sentimental on me, okay?  Just because you've been fucking me for the last few weeks doesn't mean you got to get all mushy and shit.  It was weird, strange, and messed up, but I mean, what else?"

He sighed and shook his head.  "You still know how to fucking push my buttons, don't you?"

She nodded and smiled.  "Yup.  I found a couple new ones, too, I think."

"Jonella, I-"

Stubbornly, she pulled away and crossed her arms over her chest.  "Don't fucking say it, Spankie.  Don't you fucking dare.  I'll kick your goddamn ass.  Do you understand?"

He nodded.  "Okay, I won't.  Do you need a ride to the airport?"

"Nope.  Got a cab coming in about twenty."  She sighed.  "Thank you," she said stubbornly, grudgingly.  "I'd be in the ground right now if you hadn't…aw fuck it."

"Watch your ass out there," he said.

"Got it covered," she said as she smacked the right cheek of her buttocks.  "You do the same."  She began to walk toward the door leading out into the hallway.  "You wanna go so I can get out of here?" 

He moved toward her, as if he were going to leave.  Instead, he grabbed her arm and pulled her roughly against him.  He kissed her hard and brutally, the Spankie she had come to know and loathe.  After a long moment, he pulled away and gazed down at her for a moment before leaving the room.

She sighed.  "That was one fucking hell of a send off." 


	2. Rehashing Donovan Style

REHASHING DONOVAN STYLE

_Donovan placed a very gentle kiss on her lips before pulling away to lie at her side.  She went easily into his arms and found her body instinctively snuggling against his.  For a very long time, they simply lay together in the dark stillness.  Words weren't exactly necessary at this point, but Donovan somehow felt he needed to say something to her.  He simply hoped he wouldn't ruin the moment.  He drew away from her just the slightest bit so he could look down at her serene face.  _

_His hand came up and caressed her cheek ever so gently.  "It feels so wonderful having you in my bed like this."_

_She reached up and covered his hand with hers.  "It feels wonderful being next to you."_

_He leaned down and once more gave her a very gentle kiss before drawing her back into his embrace.  Not long after that, they both drifted off to sleep.  He couldn't believe how incredible it felt holding her though the night.  Early the next morning, he awoke to an empty bed and equally empty arms.  He wasn't alarmed just yet.  She could have easily gotten up and gone into another room.  He climbed out of bed and went to the bathroom first.  **Goddamn it**.  Written across the mirror in lipstick were two words:  **I'm sorry**.  Just like that, she had left.  She had just fucking left.    _

*  *  *

With a groan, Donovan came awake suddenly.  _What a fucked up dream_, he thought.  His time with Pax was rubbing off on him in the wrong way.  He had to get out of that mind set, especially since his daughter slept soundly in the next room.  Of course, after tomorrow, she would be back with her mother.  Stifling a yawn, he settled back onto the bed again and tried to shut his mind back down, but it was no use.  He was awake.  Sighing heavily he swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat up.  It was still dark outside.  For a moment, he stared blankly out the window at the city below.  The past few weeks had been confusing and strange.  He wasn't sure what had motivated his behavior, but he had seemingly been possessed by something.  That was a poor excuse, but he couldn't find another way to describe it.  Something happened to him when he saw Pax laying on that hotel floor bleeding.  The crazy bitch had actually sacrificed her own ass without a thought to her own safety.  He hadn't expected her to do that, had he?  Jonella Paxton _was_ a loose cannon, but she was also quite…what's the word…ballsy.  Yes.  She was ballsy.  He didn't think she honestly had a death wish.  She had simply shown her human side.  Surprisingly enough, the bitch _had_ one but she showed it only rarely.  He sighed deeply as he stood up and stretched his lean frame.  There would be no more sleep for him tonight.  He snagged his robe from the foot of the bed and shrugged into it.  He took a quick peak at Stasia and saw that she was still asleep.  Good.  She might have taken her physical characteristics from her mother, but everything else came directly from him, even the restlessness.  Donovan was thankful that tonight, Stasia had decided to sleep through.  He closed the door softly behind him and moved into the living room.  He collapsed on the couch and leaned over to grab the remote control.  Perhaps he could find some boring program that would lull him back to sleep.  He had serious doubts that anything other than a good knock on the head would make him pass out again.  As was the case when he suffered insomnia, he found himself brooding.

What had actually started it all?  What was the catalyst?  The push?  He surely couldn't use the 'get back at wifey' excuse.  There was no 'wifey' to get back at, was there?  He could easily lay the first two times on that, but what about the last couple dozen times in previous weeks?  Very interesting question.  Did he have an answer?  Nope.  His mind went back to the night Pax was shot.  When he saw Remy and Pax down on the floor, he at first thought Remy had taken the hit.  The instant that idea entered his mind, he felt his entire soul collapsing.  Despite the hurt and betrayal, he still loved her, still wanted her to be there for Stasia.  However, it hadn't been Remy at all.  She was fine, untouched, and perfectly unscathed.  Even the tumble she took onto the floor with Pax hadn't given her a tiny scratch.  However, there was an amazing amount of blood draining from Pax's body.  When he realized it was Pax, he felt another pinch at his heart.  Regardless of their being nearly the same age, he had always looked out for Pax, always tried to take care of her.  She was such that she refused it most of the time, but it didn't stop him from trying.  She was so ruthless that she was ignorant.  She took chances without thinking of the consequences, even if it meant losing her life.  A prime example of that had been the way she stood at the window simply waiting for Weizmulder to take her out.  As she lay bleeding out on the expensive carpet, dozens of things ran though his mind.  One of which was that he had failed her.  He hadn't been there when she needed him.  He had always been there, even at the beginning, even when he didn't feel like it and when he fucking hated her.  He did.  He hated her, hated her fiercely, but there was something else there as well.  It was grudging, but he couldn't deny it.  He cared for her, not in the same sense as he cared for Remy, but he did.  He wasn't one to blame himself for the path his former colleagues chose, but he couldn't help feeling a little responsible.  Pax was a little younger than he; had less time in, and she simply hadn't understood.  Men like Weiz used a person until he/she dropped and then would do a cleaning when he/she was no longer useful.  She had that invincibility factor working with her.  She had mistakenly thought she would never need cleaning.  It was dumb.  _She_ could be dumb.  What could he do?  Nothing.  Yet, he couldn't shake it, couldn't shake the guilt.  He had followed her to the hospital, expecting her to die, but she had held on.  Hell, she was too stubborn to die.  As soon as she was out of her danger zone, he made the decision to help her get out, the same way he had been helped out.  If she sincerely wanted to get out, she would jump at the chance.  Surprisingly enough, she did.

At first, he thought she might be playing him again, but she stuck around and toughed it out, even through the DC Inquisition.  Of course, nothing would touch the AOP squad, but DC demanded accountability out of every damn thing.  Via satellite, Pax had faced the bastards from DC and told them everything she knew.  At that point, it was imperative to get Pax out of Chicago as soon as possible.  She needed protection, but the FBI was more than reluctant to accommodate his request.  He pressed, using every ounce of pull he had.  With enough threats and fits, he finally got what he wanted:  protection and a hotel room.  She could stay as long as DC needed her and then she would have to cool out at a safe house.  After that, she could be sent wherever she wanted to go.  Before she was released from the hospital, he stayed with her as much as possible.  He tried to tell himself it was due to a sense of obligation.  However, after the first few days, he knew there was some other reason, some other little poke.  Perhaps he cared for her more than he wanted to admit.  _No, that can't be true_.  Was it?  Goddamn it.  He cared for her, he did.  He didn't think it was remotely close to love, but there were feelings, feelings he hadn't been consciously aware of until he saw her bleeding out on the hotel carpet.  Goddamn it again.  He couldn't deny it.  He absolutely couldn't deny it.  The thought drove him nuts, though, and he didn't know how to deal.  He remembered the day clearly when he brought Remy in to see Pax.  Actually, it had been her idea.  He hadn't wanted them to mix.  However, Remy insisted that she only wanted to thank Pax for saving her life.  He knew something else was going on, but she wouldn't elaborate when pressed.  He left the two women alone and when he came back to retrieve Remy, it was clear that something had happened between them, some little argument or words spoken that were harsh and biting.  Neither woman would offer anything to him.  He let it go, let it slide out of his mind as if it hadn't happened at all.  But then, Pax coming out of the hospital had changed everything significantly.  

Donovan had gone out of his way to secure what Pax needed to move on.  He went with her to her hotel room to help settle her in.  He had no intention of allowing anything to happen.  He genuinely wanted to let Pax know that he was glad she was okay.  Although they had had some very, very strained moments, she was a friend; she was his connection to a life no one else around him understood.  From there, it had gotten weird [he had no idea his line of thinking was right with Pax].  She had blown off his attempt at trying to speak to her civilly and began her old deal of pushing his buttons.  He had learned that her behavior was a defense mechanism.  Whenever she was stressed or scared, she became mean, vicious, and abrasive.  She cared for him, he knew this, knew just in the way she had helped, but she didn't want to deal with it.  So, she brought out the insults.  Of course, he took them as he always did and went with it.  If she wanted to hide behind her fear, who was he to judge that?  Jonella Paxton was not stable enough to settle in anywhere.  She wasn't the type of woman he had ever imagined spending any time with.  She was not relationship friendly.  He was certain she had the same thoughts flowing in her mind about him.  Considering his scorecard at the moment, her theory of him was probably right on the money.  With that in mind, he shouldn't have given a second thought to returning to her.  Basically, it was shot to hell.  He came back, needing her, needing contact with another human being.  That need hadn't been satisfied after one night.  He kept going back to her night after night.  After the third or fourth time, she had actually permitted him to spend the entire night sleeping with her in bed.  It was something she hadn't done before.  There was no guilt [on his end, anyway], no need to apologize, and he found it odd, but welcome.   

Donovan had no idea what was happening to him, his mind, or his life.  Goddamn it.  He was thrown into this wickedly devious triangle of which he had no desire to be in.  There was Remy and then Pax, two women so completely different that it boggled the mind.  Yet, he found himself wanting and caring for them both.  Remy was everything Pax was not.  She was calm, stable, a good mother, and one of the sweetest women he had ever known.  She had a bitchy side, but she only utilized it as a defense mechanism.  There were a few of Pax's qualities that he wished Remy had, including her persistence.  Pax was surer than Remy.  She knew what she wanted and wasn't afraid to go after it.  Remy was lacking in common sense where Pax was lacking in tact.  He smiled a little.  Put them together and they made the perfect woman for him.  Separate, they each drove him insane with their individual flaws and quirks.  He was drawn to them like a magnet to a horseshoe.  He had spent the last few weeks sleeping with Pax and then dealing with Remy on the periphery.  Their relationship was tentative at best.  She insisted she wanted him back, but he was reluctant.  There were too many hurt feelings.  Regardless of her reasons, he didn't see them as good enough to perpetrate a lie for months.  It didn't make sense and he was hurt.  Plain and simple, uncomplicated enough, his heart ached.  Again, it was that lack of common sense that drove her to choose such a drastic measure to protect him.  If she had only talked to him…if she had told him what was going on, they could have saved their marriage.  Remy had invited him to dinner on numerous occasions, but he declined each request.  There was too much on his mind, the pain was still fresh.  A part of him would love her forever, but he wasn't sure he could go back to her.  

Earlier today, he had seen Pax off [sort of].  He had wanted to say goodbye, but she wouldn't have it.  She had put up her shield and closed him off.  What had he been trying to start with her?  What was his purpose?  Was she nothing more than a receptacle for his loneliness?  Was she the only willing person in his life right now?  Was that it?  _God.  This is some fucked up shit_, he thought in Pax'ese.  What did he want?  Did he even know?  Part of his confusion was gone now.  Pax had been sent to a safe house and would move on to Miami.  He wasn't sure about Miami, and honestly, he didn't know if he wanted to find out where she was.  _And why is that_?  He assumed he would never see her again, and he wasn't certain that he liked that idea.  The other part of his confusion lived in the same city.  Their daughter connected them eternally.  Despite whatever happened with him and Remy, his love for Stasia would never fade.  She was his light in a dark room.  Remy was ready, receptive, and more than willing to reconcile.  She didn't make her feelings a secret, but he hadn't had the desire to spend time with her, not the same kind of time he had recently spent with Pax, and he couldn't explain it.  It boggled his mind.  He had broken his back trying to win Remy over.  He had followed her to her parents' home to propose when she ran away.  He had laid so much on the line to marry her, to raise his daughter with her, but he didn't understand his lack of desire to straighten out the shit.  Perhaps she had made one too many mistakes, perhaps _he_ had.  She knew he had spent many hours at the hospital with Pax.  She knew this and didn't seem to mind.  He wondered if she might be waiting her turn.  The thought was harsh, but it made sense.  She hadn't hidden her desire to reconcile a bit, but she had backed away.  Was she biding her time?  Was she waiting for Pax to completely disappear before she began hitting him hard with her presence?  With her love?  It was too complicated.  All of it.  It was complicated and made no sense.  As far as he knew, Jonella Paxton was gone.  He would probably never see her again.  With that thought came relief.  Perhaps he could breathe again and not have so many things weighing heavily on his mind.  Sighing, Donovan clicked off the television and went back toward the bedroom.  He needed sleep.  Remy was due over early to pick up Stasia.

*  *  *

The next morning, Donovan stood back and allowed Remy to enter his apartment.  Stasia was wrapped around her father's neck like a little monkey.  She missed seeing him every day and she enjoyed these short visits.  When she laid her violet eyes on her mother, she went to her willingly.  Donovan said nothing and closed the door behind her.  Remy was hugging Stasia to her and kissing her little cherubic face.  She walked over to an overstuffed chair and sat down with their daughter.  

"I missed you, little one," Remy said.  Looking up at Donovan, she asked, "Was she okay?"

He moved away from the door and sat on the arm of the couch.  He nodded.  "She was fine.  She's young, but I think she's starting to adjust a little to this new arrangement that we have.  I miss her, though."

She nodded.  "I know you do.  She misses you as well.  Frank, I've been thinking about something."

His body immediately began to tense just the slightest bit.  When she said those words, it was never good.  Before she left the first time, she had said the same thing.  He crossed his arms over his chest and gazed over at her.  "What is it?"

Remy smoothed Stasia's blonde hair.  "I think I'm burdening my sister.  I want to move out and get my own place."

Some of the tension left his body and he relaxed just the slightest bit.  It wasn't as bad as he thought.  "Do you need help with that?"

She smiled a trifle bitterly.  "I don't want your money, Frank.  I didn't come over here to request a loan."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean for it to come out that way," he said.

She nodded.  "Okay.  I'm thinking of moving out of town.  I want to start anew.  Getting out of the city will do that.  I've had too many ghosts coming back to haunt me and I think it's time I moved on."

He gazed at her incredulously.  "You're running again?  Where do you plan to go?  What about Stasia?"

She sighed.  "I'm not running away again.  I just need to get out," she said.  "You don't understand what it's like, Frank.  I thought that we might find a way to get back together, but I'm not sure of that anymore, because I'm not sure of whom it is that you want or what you want.  Are you?"

His incredulous gaze became angered.  "It's a fair assessment, but don't let my confusion drive you out.  Don't take Stasia away from me.  I can't spend as much time with her as I want as it is.  If you move away, I might be lucky to see her once a month.  Could you please rethink this decision?  Think of our daughter.  If you want your own place, find one here.  I'll help any way I can, just don't take her away."

"I'd never take her away from you, Frank, you know that.  I just can't live in this city any longer.  It's too much.  I can wait, I can even try to find something temporary, but I want you to make up your mind.  You have to decide if it's her or me you want.  Don't give me that 'she means nothing to me' speech.  I know she does."

"She is no longer here, Remy, and you're right, I don't know how I feel about her, but that isn't an excuse to pick up and leave.  At this point in my life, I choose not to choose.  I can't make a decision like that.  I just can't.  I don't expect you to accept it and I wouldn't blame you if you didn't.  I don't ask that you stop living or going your own way, but I do ask that you not move so far away that I can't see Stasia.  That's the only request I'm making.  It's the only thing I want."

She nodded.  "Okay, Frank.  We'll see.  If we can at all work it out, I want to try."  She stood up and moved toward the door.  

Stasia turned toward her father and gave him a little wave.  Donovan smiled a little and waved back.  Damn it all.  Why was this all so fucking hard?  He went to the door and slammed it shut.  Fucking women.  They were his downfall.

*  *  *

Later that day, Donovan left his apartment and started toward the nest.  His mind was preoccupied and he was upset with himself and his ex-wife.  From a few hundred feet away, there was a telephoto lens focused on the sky blue car he coasted aggressively toward downtown.  The photographer took a few shots, hoping that the super scope could pick up the license plate numbers.  This fellow knew more about Donovan than he needed to know, but he still had to have his reinforcements.  He had been watching Donovan for weeks and knew his routine down to the letter.  If he had tried, he could have taken out the ex-wife and had the original fucked up job done.  However, she was no longer the focus.  The federal agent would be hard to bring down, but not impossible.  He had his weaknesses and those could be used against him if tweaked, and he didn't mind tweaking him.  Nope.  Not at all.  Frank Donovan was to be cleaned and cleaned well.  


	3. Ah The Good Life

AH THE GOOD LIFE

The location where Pax now hung her hat was fairly secluded.  She had been living out here for about three months and her small bungalow was the only house for miles.  She didn't mind.  Not one for socializing, she didn't give a shit.  All the people on the entire planet could disappear [_well, maybe Spankie could hang around for kicks_] and she wouldn't have shed a tear.  She wasn't sure who pulled the strings to get this setup for her, but she'd like to thank him or her profusely.  She had the tiny house and a strip of beach that was all her own.  She dug the shit out of this place and spent hours tooling around her small strip of beach.  However, her patience had begun to poop out on her.  The isolation had been nice for four whole weeks.  After that, it had gotten annoying, and now, it was unbearable.  Spankie and the upper brass of every law enforcement agency in the fucking country told her that she would need to hide out here for about six months.  Obviously, this place was a halfway house of sorts for agents on the decline or those in transition.  She had been pissed to the extreme when she hadn't gone to Miami as she wanted, but that would come later, when they figured out what to do with her.  For now, they kept her hidden away as if she were some type of horrid secret that no one needed to know about.  Of course, there were _certain_ people who would probably _prefer_ that she stay gone forever.  Sighing, she drove the thought out of her mind.  The one thing she had learned above all others, being completely alone meant all the time in the fucking world to meet oneself, to exorcise every demon inside, and to listen to ones own bitching, pissing, and moaning.  In that solitary time unbroken by another person, she had discovered a few things here and there about herself, things that she hadn't realized, didn't _want_ to realize.  It was too much.  All alone, some of her crassness had disappeared [_well, not fucking all of it_] basically because there was no one around to feel the brunt of her verbal abuse.  _What?  Jonella Paxton?  Just in it for shock value?  No, uh uh, never.  _It was no damn fun being alone.  She hadn't ever thought that before, but she also hadn't ever been completely alone either, had she?  She hadn't been alone with her thoughts, with nothing to do other than reevaluate every little thing she had done in her life.  _Was this your fucking purpose, Spankie?  Was this why you insisted I take this **help**?_  Why sure it was.  She hadn't been exactly blind to that, though, had she?  Hadn't a little tiny part of her known what this would mean?

_UGH_.  What the fuck was happening to her?  Why the fuck was she driving herself insane?  Goddamn it.  What was it about those weeks waiting to leave that needled her?  Why the fuck hadn't Spankie kept his goddamn hands and dick to himself?  Jonella Paxton wasn't a woman who found herself confused very often.  She hated confusion, would take it out and beat it senselessly if given a chance.  She needed to break away from this solitary shit to escape the confusion, but she had three more months of this sorry shit.  She didn't know if she could make it.  Her feet had begun to itch and she needed to move.  Yet, someone was monitoring every move she made.  The CIA, FBI, VHF, VHS, DVD, _every _acronym in fucking America, was watching her.  It was unnerving and unwelcome.  She couldn't take three more months of this, she absolutely couldn't.  If she had to continue to brood over this shit with Spankie, she might run off screaming into the night.  She wouldn't need to go to Miami; she'd end up in a straight jacket.  The little psychoanalyst in her mind began picking at her.  _So, tell me Pax, why is it that you came back a few months ago?  Why was it that you pushed Spankie Donovan's buttons?  Why was it that you pushed his buttons when you knew him before?  Very interesting developments here_.  Yuck.  Fuck off Sigmund fucking Fraud.  This was something she didn't need.  She had made a bad move the first night she came to him.  Even though he summoned her, she could have backed off, could have stopped fucking with his mind.  It wasn't necessary.  She knew what her job had been, knew what she came in to do, but she didn't do it, did she?  She toyed with people, fucked with their emotions, and got herself in a shitload of trouble.  It wasn't that she was turning over some new reformed leaf, but goddamn it, it stank to high heaven, and she fucking didn't know what to do.  She wasn't some ditzy assed bitch who would fall over in a dead faint when touched by Spankie Frankie.  However, she did find that he pushed as many of her buttons as she did his.  The solitary time had fucking made her all mushy and shit.  She had to get the fuck out of here.  She had to find a way.

*  *  *

Weizmulder sat in the comfort of his Chicago hotel room.  He had arrived a few days before his former colleague departed for her 'sabbatical.'  Before his plans were interrupted, he had been intent on finishing his cleaning job on Pax, the target, and Frank Donovan.  He had no official word to do the deed.  It was just something he felt obligated to do.  After all, the crazy sons-of-bitches had gotten away without issue one clouding them.  It wasn't how this job was supposed to work.  Hell, Pax knew this.  She had been with the Death Angels a few fucking years.  She knew the score.  Once an op lost his/her nerve, it was down the tubes for him/her.  He often wondered why orders hadn't been sent to eliminate Donovan anyway.  Of course, the stoic SOG leader hadn't exactly been an assassin, but there were secrets locked away in Donovan's closet, secrets that should have led him down into a pit.  Yet, he had been protected a bit, shielded some how.  Weiz never understood.  Interestingly enough, he was gazing down at the "Donovan file" that had been unofficially gathered and kept until three or four months ago.  It had suddenly become an active and warranted file.  Orders had come down, _official _orders.  Frank Donovan, ex-CIA agent, ex-K & R man, had run shit out of luck.  His cleaning was eminent.  It would prove touchy and difficult, but Weiz wasn't too bad.  He was given the option of handing this assignment to one of his subordinates, but he declined.  He wanted this job, felt it his duty to take him out.  Besides, Donovan might not meet his demise as quickly with someone else.  Too many mistakes had been made already, and he couldn't afford any other.  Right now, Pax and the former Mrs. Donovan were given a reprieve.  

Like Pax, part of Weiz had difficulties with this grisly job, but when agents delved into the AOP world, their minds were sort of brainwashed.  They took on the mentality of a combat solider.  They never thought of their hits as 'victims,' they were more like 'units.'  It was the only way to stay sane.  The Angels were above detection and punishment for any deed they had done.  Yet, they were also privy to certain information.  Weiz knew where Pax was; he knew where she was going, and he liked it that way.  If she ever discovered who the next hit was, she'd go to Donovan and help the fucker out.  He didn't need that to happen, either.  Weiz had been watching Donovan for a while, just outside the realm of discovery.  Any slight mistake and the SOG leader would be on him.  It was apparent that he and Pax had a 'thing.'  He'd seen Donovan coming and going at Pax's hotel quite regularly.  The boys on the inside had given him a brief lowdown of their relationship as well.  They hadn't exactly provided photos of the coupling, but had given him enough information for him to determine that Pax _did _have a soft spot for her "Spankie."  In fact, all of what was happening to Pax was Donovan's doing.  No one really wanted to help out Pax.  If an Angel screwed up, he/she was basically shunned.  It was a brotherhood kind of thing.  If one failed at his/her job, he/she wasn't part of the family anymore.  _Sorry, you messed up.  We can't do anything for you.  Bye bye now.  _Whatever the case, Donovan's name was now on his top ten list of greatest hits [pun intended].  If he could keep Pax out of it, his job would run much more smoothly.  As long as she wasn't informed [and he doubted she would be], there would be little interference.  He sighed a bit and then chuckled.  If Pax hadn't fucked up the Ellis hit, he might have given Donovan to her.  That would have gone beautifully, wouldn't it?  _Stay out of it, Pax.  Stay out of it, and let me do this.  Don't get up in my face.  Just don't_.

*  *  *

Pax lay in the bed that was fashionably covered with mosquito netting.  What the fuck was its purpose?  Like the fucking bungalow wasn't air-conditioned or some shit and could freeze out the most mutant of bloodsuckers.  It was a useless piece of shit attached to aggravate.  She hated the fucking thing, hated it so much that she was tempted to rip it down and burn it.  However, she couldn't trash this fucked up halfway house.  Someone would eventually need it.  It was relatively early, probably no later than seven if that.  Three more fucking months.  Three more goddamn fucking months.  She wanted someone to come so she could fucking beg them to take her onward.  She didn't need a six-month safe house.  She needed to get to Miami, get anywhere but here.  Groaning and cursing incoherently, she dragged her body out of bed and got tangled up in the netting.  Viciously, she swung at it, pulling and yanking.  She didn't manage to pull it down, but she gave it a piece of her fucking mind.  Stupid ass shit.  Since there were no other people around her, she didn't get in any big hurry to put on her clothes.  Even though Angels were discouraged from doing it, she had always slept without benefit of attire.  _Where are you going to hide your weapon_, Weiz had asked.  _Up your asshole?_  The only time she had bothered with clothing at all was when she was smack up against Spankie in the jungle.  Spankie.  Ugh.  Gross.  Change the mind.  Change the pattern.  Go somewhere else.  She slipped quietly out of the tiny bedroom and moved into the kitchen.  Her throat was parched.  Had she been having nightmares?  She only awoke with a dried out throat if she had been having night terrors and awoke screaming or some shit.  No.  There was no reason for her to have any night terrors.  She opened the refrigerator, the cold push of air hitting her naked body like a fist, and she reached inside for a bottle of juice.  She screwed off the cap, turned up the bottle, and drank deeply.  

A knock on the door made her choke on her mouthful of juice and she felt it dribbling down her chin, plopping on her chest.  What the fuck?  She put the juice back in the fridge and approached the front of the house.  There was a super spy peephole in the door and she peered out it cautiously.  She recognized the man outside easily enough, but she had no idea why he had come to her.  She darted back into the bedroom and snagged a tee shirt, throwing it impatiently over her head.  She didn't have a fucking weapon, but her fists would do in a pinch.  She swung the door open and fixed her eyes coldly on her 'other' lead op.  He was the 'legitimate' one, so to speak.  He was one of the head honchos who didn't want to help her out without prompting from Donovan.  She didn't say a word.  She stood back, tense and upset.  If he made one move toward her, she'd kick his fucking ass.  Pax stepped back carefully, never taking her eyes off the fuck.  The last time she saw him, there were dozens of other stone faces lurking about.  Now he had returned to her alone.  She had never known him to be an Angel, but none of them really knew about the others.  They only knew if they were summoned by them or paired with them, and that was very rare.  She eyed the man carefully, sizing him up, trying to see if he was packing.  He appeared clean, but she didn't trust these fuckers as far as she could throw them.  She backed away further, planting her hands on her hips.  She stared at her former lead op with a look of distaste on her face.

"So, Dicky, what do you want," Pax demanded suspiciously.

Richard Martin had been with the CIA for almost fifteen years.  He had worked with both Pax and Donovan when they were still partners.  Back then, he had yet to earn his lead op status.  He had known of Pax's double life within the agency, but he hadn't said word one about it.  It wasn't his place.  Besides, Robert Weizmulder wasn't a man to reckon with.  Martin wasn't exactly afraid of the Death Angel leader, but it was always best to keep one's nose out of AOP business.  If not, there might be a cleaning ordered.  "Pax, I need to talk to you."

She stared at him, never allowing the suspicion to leave her.  He was tall, probably taller than Spankie, with steel gray hair and eyes the same disturbing shade.  "About what, Dicky?  Did you wait until the security was down a bit before you returned to fucking take me out?  Did you clean out all the surveillance?  Go ahead," she said with her arms outstretched, "I'm totally defenseless, no weapons, no nothing.  If you want to shoot me, go for it."

He shook his head.  "Pax, I have no desire to shoot you.  If I did, I wouldn't have wasted any energy helping Frank set this up for you.  However, I _should_ do it.  After all, you're a double agent, now aren't you?"  He sighed.  "Sorry, Pax, my mind is off track here.  There are a few things I have dug up about your pal, Weiz."

"Weiz?  Where is the fuck?  I know he's still with the agency.  What's he doing now?  Sending in a pack of ops to hunt me down?  He probably knows where I am.  He can come get me any time."

"No, Pax.  Weiz won't come after you now.  He won't even come after the original target, but he has new orders.  In fact, if the Angels find out I'm here, I'm sure I'll be next on the list.  I just needed to make you aware that new orders have been handed down.  Weiz has the file, but I'm not sure who he's sending in unless he goes himself."

She gazed up at Dicky incredulously.  "Who's the hit?"

He shook his head.  "I don't know, I just know that Weiz was delivered a certain type of package.  I saw it go out.  It was a special FedEx package sealed with that black and yellow bumblebee tape shit.  You were an AOP long enough to know what that means."

"Damn it," she spat.  "The files.  He has gotten a new one."  What the fuck?  She stared up at Dicky and her incredulous look returned.  "Oh fuck me.  Frank?  Weiz is going after Frank?"

"Can't confirm or deny that, Pax, but you're free to jump to your own conclusions," he said as he crossed his arms over his chest.  

"You smug fucking bastard," she spat.  "He was one of yours and you can't do anything about it," she cried, enraged.  "No, of course not, because inside those pants lurks a pussy.  Is he being cleaned because of me?  Because of my failure?"

"It was ordered, Pax.  It has nothing to do with you."  He shook his head.  "Correction.  It has _little _to do with you.  There are probably a few things here and there, but not completely.  I'm guessing this cleaning was probably in the works for a few months.  I don't know any more than that and I can't warn Frank, but that doesn't mean _you_ can't."

She let out a sound of disgust.  "What the fuck are you talking about, Dicky?  How in the fuck can I do shit locked away in this cock sucking safe house?  Goddamn why are CIA men so fucking stupid?"

He laughed a little.  "Pax, your mind is so revved up that you're not thinking.  This is a _CIA_ safe house, not at all affiliated with the FBI.  Sure, Frank pulled in the feds, but they don't run this operation.  As a lead, I can come in and out completely undetected.  All I have to do is ask someone to flip a switch and _voila_…I'm here UC.  Funny thing is, I could also do that for you.  You're retired now, Pax, and you can tell Frank anything you wish and come out unscathed.  We wiped your slate clean, as much as Frank's was.  Do you understand?  Perhaps we could become a little…oh I don't know…careless?  Damn it, our retiree escaped.  The solitary confinement drove her insane and she hightailed it away.  You've gone UC before, haven't you?  You could go UC again quite easily.  If that's something you're interested in, I could arrange it.  Just say the word, Pax.  You can stay here for another three months, then ship on out to Miami.  You can cross on over and live happily ever after.  If you choose that road, someone might die.  You're right, Pax, Frank was one of mine, but we have little control over the Angels.  You should know that up close and personal like.  What's your pleasure, Pax?  Escape or sacrifice?"

"You're not fucking with me," she asked through a harsh whisper.

"Wish I were."

"Give me two days to prepare," she said.  

*  *  *

Donovan sighed deeply as he reached out to knock on a door.  After a few moments, he looked up as Remy opened the door.  Of course, she wasn't surprised to see him; she had been expecting him.  She stepped back and allowed him to enter the room.  Donovan came inside her apartment and looked around.  She had finally found her own place and had done a remarkable job decorating it.  Although she had lived in the apartment for the better part of two months, he hadn't been over yet.  Normally, she brought Stasia to him and picked her up.  However, tonight, he asked to come over and she agreed.  He was curious to see where she'd settled in and to check out if she had decided to make the residence permanent or temporary.  Since their discussion a few months ago, she hadn't mentioned moving away again.  He was certain she still had the same idea floating in her head, but she didn't want to mention it for fear of sending him off again.  She closed the door behind him and stood near it with her arms crossed in front of her chest.  Donovan turned toward her and noticed her stance.  It had become one of her favorites.  

"It's nice," he said.  "Stasia?"

"She's sleeping."  She moved away from the door and took a chair.  "I'm glad you came to check out the place.  I think Renata was happy to get rid of us," she said with a little smile.  "She loves her niece but loves her privacy even more."

Donovan remained standing.  He walked around the room, looking, pilfering, taking note of the new photos of their daughter displayed on the walls and on various shelves around the room.  He felt so suddenly nosy…so suddenly…Pax.  Shit.  Why did he do this every time?  With Pax, he had thought of nothing but Remy.  With Remy, he thought of nothing but Pax.  "I hope you have copies of these," Donovan said as he picked up one of the framed portraits.  "I don't have them."

She nodded.  "I do.  Those are new.  I had them taken a few weeks ago, but haven't had time to get them to you.  Frank?  Would you…like to stay for dinner?"

Although he wasn't sure what was ego and what wasn't, he thought there was a hidden meaning behind her invitation.  This wasn't the first time since they'd divorced that she asked him out.  He was once again struck by the image of being pulled in two different directions at once.  He meant it when he said he chose not to choose.  He simply wouldn't become entangled again just for their daughter's sake.  It wasn't fair to any of them.  "No, Remy.  I can't.  I have plans."

She nodded thoughtfully.  "Okay," she said.  _Plans?  What kind of plans do you have?_  She bit her tongue.  She wanted to ask, wanted to know, but she didn't.  The ground they had broken between them was still shaky.  She wanted to push, but if she did, he'd drift further away.  "Maybe some other time, then."  She stood and moved toward the back of the apartment.  He followed quietly behind her.

Their daughter was resting snuggly beneath her favorite blanket, her little hands tucked under her cheek.  "I see she's still out," Donovan said with a smile.  

"Yeah," she said.  "I just put her down a half hour ago.  She was cranky and needed sleep.  I think she wanted to stay awake for you, but her little body just couldn't take it."

"That's okay," he said as he kissed two fingers and laid them against her cheek.  "I can come back tomorrow if that's okay."

"You can come any time you want," she said softly.

_Okay.  Time to go_.  He had no intention of getting caught up in the moment, getting swept away by emotion and sex.  He loved her, he truly did, but they couldn't simply make love and expect their relationship to go back to normal.  If things were that easy, they could have done that months ago.  "I should go."  He stepped away from the crib and moved toward the small living room.  Remy followed behind.  Just before he reached for the doorknob, he turned to face his ex-wife.  "I'll come back tomorrow to see her."

Her thoughtful little nod returned.  "That's fine, Frank.  Like I said, you're free to come and go as you please."

Unable to help it, he reached for her, and after a moment, his lips were on hers.  The kiss was tentative at first, but grew passionate and deeper after the awkwardness dissipated.  Her kiss felt natural and _real_.  It wouldn't take much more for him to take her down to the floor and make mad love to her, but he broke the kiss before it could progress any further.  "Good night, Remy," he said, whispering harshly before he made his exit.

Donovan went directly home from Remy's apartment.  He had told her a little white lie, of course.  He had no plans, but he couldn't stay with her.  Releasing a deep sigh, he inserted his key into the lock and pushed the door open.  He closed the door and reached for the light switch.  Before his hand fell upon it, he was unexpectedly hit from behind.  Whoever it was caught him off guard and they both tumbled to the floor.  The body on top of his was light in weight, but not stamina.  He turned abruptly to his side, throwing his assailant off him and to the floor.  He whipped around suddenly, taking his gun into hand.  The assailant kicked out, planting a foot in his stomach.  He fell back with a startled 'oof.'  Goddamn it.  When he caught his breath, this fucker was going to be in a world of hurt.  He rolled over on his stomach and reached for the leg of the fucker trying to crawl away.  He used the fucker's leg as an anchor and he jerked his body up viciously, pouncing on top of the bastard whose last moments would be spent in excruciating pain.  As soon as the full weight of his body was on top of the idiot, he heard an all too familiar voice.

"_Getoffmeyoufuckingcrazyassedfucker_," the voice spat, as if the command was one word.

He rose up just the slightest bit and peered down into the face of a snarling woman.  "Pax?  What the fuck," he spat.

Before she said a word to him, she caught him with a right hook on the jaw.  "That's the fuck," she spat venomously.  "_Get off me!_"               


	4. Pax Attax

AUTHOR'S NOTE:  First of all, it is not my intention to offend anyone with the use of foul language in my fiction.  I clearly rate them "R" and give a warning of 'strong language.'  Secondly, the character "Jonella Paxton" is rude, crude, and foul-mouthed.  What you read is what she is.  It is in character for her and a part of her personality.  She has an annoying affect on the other characters I have created as well as those I have not.  Therefore, they act and react accordingly.  THANKS!

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PAX ATTAX

Donovan took hold of Pax's skinny arm and pulled her up with him.  She had surprised him with her punch, and he had to admit that she had gotten him pretty good.  However, he wouldn't give the psychotic bitch the satisfaction of knowing that.  Hastily, he flipped on the light switch.  His next reaction was more in line.  He quickly subdued her by grabbing her arms and placing both of her wrists in one large hand.  He clamped the other down onto her shoulder and pushed her forward.  She cursed and spat at him the entire time, reminding him of an enraged Tasmanian devil.  It didn't escape him that she had yet to try and break free.  It didn't matter.  He had laid his ass on the line for her with a dozen or more people and she had basically shit on him.  He forced her onward toward the couch.  He was more than tempted to shove her against the wall, but he didn't want to kill her until he knew her reasoning behind running from the safe house.  Donovan released her and her body fell backward on the couch.  She landed with a solid _thud_ and barely had time to catch her breath before he drew his gun out of its holster.  Furious, her lips drawn into a snarl, she lifted her chin defiantly and stuck her pinkie finger into the barrel.  His trigger finger literally itched to proceed.  The slightest little breath would make the gun explode in his hand.  Oh, the temptation.

"Unless you intend to use this big, hard, loaded gun," she began, "I suggest you holster the fucker, Spankie."

He exhaled a deep breath that sounded more like a frustrated growl before he drew it back.  He didn't immediately holster it.  Donovan had a feeling that before the night was through, he'd need it.  "Jonella, you have a hell of a lot of explaining to do.  What the fuck are you doing here?"  She tried to open her mouth and speak, but he went for her instead.  He planted his knee between her thighs and leaned over her menacingly.  His hand came up to the side of her throat and he grabbed hold of her, not exactly squeezing, but his fingers were tensing from the overwhelming desire to strangle her.  "No, I don't care why you're here.  You're back to the fucking games, aren't you?  What I've put on the line to help you hasn't done a damn bit of good.  I don't like it when people repay favors with betrayal."

She met and matched his loathsome gaze.  "You stupid fuck, if you'll get off me, I'll tell you why I'm here.  I'm not playing any kind of stupid ass games.  Think about it if you _can_.  How fucking long was I here?  How fucking long did I lay up in that shitty ass hospital bed?  How many goddamn opportunities did I have to take off?  I had more than you can even fathom.  Get off me, you witless fuck, and let me speak to you human to human."  As he slowly moved away from her, she straightened her body and crossed her legs nonchalantly.  "Much better.  At least I can breathe.  Goddamn it.  Would you please get better fucking cologne?  Whatever the hell you put on smells like shit."

Although still intent on shooting her, he put his gun back into its holster.  Breathing heavily, he crossed his arms before his chest and stared down at her.  He had only moved a few steps back.  He wanted to be close to her in case she decided to split.  "Cut the shit, Jonella.  Your crudeness will not knock me off track.  I'm angrier with myself right now than I am with you.  I put my trust in you, I believed you would do the right thing…no…the _noble_ thing.  Instead, you continue with your ceaseless head games, and you fucking played me.  You played me, Pax, and I let you do it.  I can't explain why I keep letting you do this to me, to yourself."  He laughed bitterly.  "Why did you come back?  Did you want to finish the job?  Did you expect to find my ex-wife here instead of just me?"  He went for her again, looming above her, seemingly nine feet tall.  "_Tell me, goddamn it_.  Tell me why I let you do this time and time again?"  She didn't say a word as she stared up at him.  She had never seen so many mixed emotions flitting across a man's face, flashing in his eyes.  When she didn't immediately respond, he leaned down and took hold of her forearm.  He pulled her up to her feet and glared through her at eye level.  She was in her fucking stupid spike heeled boots.  "_Answer me_," he demanded.

"How can I," she spat hotly.  "I can't say anything without you fucking screaming at me.  How the fuck can I tell you anything when you're not listening to me?  Fucking let me go."  Emitting a disgusted sound, he released her and moved away.  "For the first time in your pathetic fucking little existence, you're wrong."  He looked her up and down, snarling.  He reminded her of that little fuck…who was he…Jake was it?  "Oh yeah," she spat angrily.  "Frank Donovan is fucking wrong.  It happens more than your ego will allow you to admit, doesn't it?  I left that prison with the help of Dicky."  When shocked recognition came into his eyes, she nodded.  "Oh yeah, you know Dicky.  He fell asleep at the switch and I got out, accidentally on purpose, of fucking course.  He can't come to you, but I can.  You're in trouble, Frank, deep shit trouble.  Guess who the subject of the newest AOP file is?  I'm looking at the witless fuck right now."  She sighed and looked down for a moment before focusing her eyes on him again.  He didn't believe her, she could see that clearly.  "I didn't fucking betray you, I'm trying to keep your ass alive."

He moved even further away from her.  He had to find something to lean on.  This was giving him one fuck of a headache.  She hadn't been back in his life five minutes and she was already picking him clean.  He nodded.  Oh yes.  She was a hyena, a putrid carrion eating carnivore.  Tiredly, he leaned back against a sturdy table close to the front door.  "Why should I believe you?"

She laughed a little.  The fucker never changed.  "Why should you _not_?  It doesn't make one fucking difference to me whether you believe it or not.  I suppose you'll rethink your fucking mistrust the day we're all gathered around your fucking coffin.  I don't know how goddamn comfortable you are with that picture, but there are lots of people who don't want to see that."  

"Are you one of them," he asked calmly.              

She crossed her arms and chewed on her bottom lip for just the briefest of moments.  "What do you think?"  God.  Why couldn't she just fucking say it?  Goddamn, goddamn, goddamn.  _Dear jumping Jesus on a fucking camel, take me now!  _Uh.  She couldn't believe she had allowed her mind to travel into that land.  She wiped it out and turned around.  Feeling a little awkward and out of sorts, she went to the couch and sat down.  "Do you want to stand there fucking glaring at me or do you want to talk about it?  I can walk out right now and we can forget this little shouting match ever happened.  I'll fucking go back into hiding and you'll fucking go back to whatever you were doing before I came back.  If I leave, I won't come back for your burial.  Uh uh.  I fucking refuse to do that."

When he didn't say anything, when he didn't move a muscle, she cried out in frustration.  Whatever.  She fucking tried.  She did all that she could do.  What else was there?  Should she get a hammer and hit him on the fucking head?  She stood up, straightened her slightly disheveled blouse, and made her way toward the door.  The moment her hand touched the doorknob, he grasped her forearm again.  Violently, she jerked it out of his hand and shoved him backward.  He nearly lost his balance and almost fell on his ass, but he recovered quickly enough.  He growled an incoherent curse [_you little bitch_] and went after her.  _Oh hell no.  You sure as shit ain't touching me_.  She balled up her fist and threw another punch.  He was prepared and blocked it.  Not so easily detracted, she tried to do it again.  With an exasperated sigh, he grasped both of her forearms in his hands and shoved her body roughly against the door.  _Oh God no_, she thought.  _He always fucking chooses doors.  What the fuck is it about goddamn doors_?  

"Stop it, Jonella, just stop it," he said.  She wasn't about to stop it.  She tried to break free, only twisting her arms in his grasp, hurting herself.  She was too close against him to plant her knee in his groin.  "_Stop it_," he demanded.  "Goddamn you," he spat before he placed a brutal kiss on her lips.  

At first, she tried to push him away, but he was very strong and demanding.  He wouldn't give an inch.  In fact, he pressed forward with almost savage viciousness, as if he were trying to consume her.  She noticed that he always tried to control the uncontrollable, tried to tame what was meant to be wild.  He was one of the most arrogant fucks she had ever known.  Grudgingly, she gave in to his kiss.  It was much easier than fighting him off.  She responded to him, kissing him back, her tongue entering his mouth, seeking his, touching it.  His lips still locked with hers, he stepped back from the door, taking her along for the trip.  His hands came up and he ripped open her blouse, sending buttons flying across the room.  She gasped against his lips [_brutal fucker… just paid eighty bucks for that blouse_] as her breasts were suddenly and abruptly exposed to the open air.  She wore no bra.  _One less item to take off_.  _Hmm, well, if he wants to pay rough, I guess I can too_, she thought.  She, in turn, ripped open his shirt, sending another handful of buttons sailing through the air.  He was backing her toward his bedroom and for some dumb ass reason, the thought of being in his bed unsettled her.  It was where he had taken his princess, probably where their kid was conceived.  The thought of going in there was entirely too much for her.  

"No," she said against his lips, her hands furiously working the snap and zipper of his slacks.  "Not in there, you fucker.  NO."

The entire time she was saying 'no,' he continued to back her toward the room.  She wasn't exactly fighting him away, but she was definitely not comfortable.  Nope.  Hell no.  Fucking no way.  Once the back of her legs hit the foot of the bed, his hands slid beneath her skirt, grasping her panties and yanking them down.  Past her hips, they slid easily down to her feet, and she stork stepped out of them without even thinking about it.  Her skirt was discarded in much the same fashion.  Yet, Spankie didn't bother stripping the shirt off her.  He fucking left it there.  What the fuck?  Like it mattered any damn way.  His hands went down to cup her buttocks and she wrapped her long legs around him.  They crashed down to the bed, their bodies barely on the damn thing.  She worked him out of his slacks and boxers just enough to free him.  Within moments, he was inside her, entangling himself in yet another sticky web, with no clear idea how he would escape it.

*  *  *

Donovan awoke in complete darkness.  He noticed that some time in the night, the activity had waned enough for them to strip out of the rest of their clothing.  Using his elbows, he pushed his body up to a sitting position as he peered around the room, looking for his illicit lover.  He stopped for a moment and buried his face into his hands.  Goddamn her.  Goddamn her indeed.  She had worked him pretty damn good again, hadn't she?  In three months of absence, she had yet to lose her touch.  What the hell was he thinking?  _Nononononono_, he thought.  His life was complicated enough as it was, but now, he had made it worse.  He had somehow managed to avoid going to bed with Remy, but hadn't been as skillful with Pax.  _Shitfuckdamn_.  God.  He had begun to even _think_ like her.  When he looked up, he spied the silhouette of her body across the far side of the room, close to the window.  While he was sleeping, she had dragged a chair over to the window and had her long frame folded perfectly into it.  Her knees were drawn up against her breasts.  She was staring out the window, waiting, watching, but for what?  He still didn't know if he could trust her story, but she had never sounded so…desperate.  _You're an idiot, Donovan.  She's playing you_.  The temptation to strangle had yet to fade, but he couldn't prevent a stray through from entering his mind.  If she were playing him, if she had only come back to fuck around, why was she still here?  Why hadn't she fled?  That thought made him think of the time before she left for the safe house.  _I will not let her get under my skin.  I will not let her get under my skin.  I **will not** let her get under my skin_.  Was it too late?  Was it fucking too late?  No.  He had to get to the bottom of this before he lost his already shaky mind.  

"Pax?"

"What the fuck do you want, Spankie?  You're interrupting my nightly meditation."

He shook his head incredulously and flipped on the bedside lamp.  She fronted almost as much as he.  _Shit.  Why is this so damn hard_?  "I believe you.  I don't think you're here as some type of mission within a mission.  I was…"

"Don't fucking start that mushy shit, Frankie.  Don't make me kick your fucking ass," she spat suddenly, viciously, interrupting him.

Donovan sighed angrily.  "Would you shut your fucking mouth for one second and listen to what I have to say.  No matter what you do, no matter how hard you try to shut me out, I'm going to have my fucking say.  Do you understand?  I believe you.  When I first saw you, it hurt.  I wasn't pissed off about all the work I'd done or the strings I pulled.  I was pissed because you put yourself in jeopardy again, and I wish you'd fucking stop that.  You don't want to see me in a coffin and I'm in no big hurry to see you in one, either."

"Jesus," she spat incredulously.  "I put myself in jeopardy for you, you bastard.  You've saved my ass more times than I can count and I needed to return the favor.  Don't think for one fucking moment that it was anything more than that, because it fucking wasn't.  Stop with the mushy shit.  That's all I ask.  I goddamn well can't take it.  I came here to warn you.  I came here to help you stop this.  Somebody wants you dead, but I don't know who or why.  Dicky said Weiz has your file and he'll probably orchestrate the hit himself.  He won't give you to anyone else.  Other than what happened a few months ago, what would motivate the Angels to seek you out?  Why you?  What the hell happened when you were an agency prick?  It had to be something pretty fucking big."

He shook his head absently.  "I don't want to go into it.  I can't tell anyone, including you.  I'm not surprised I'm next.  I expected it; I just didn't know when and where it would happen.  It's why I assumed it was I when you were sent to clean Remy."

"You do know that you're fucking going to have to tell someone, don't you?  Goddamn it, Spankie, for all your bullshit and sulfur, you sure as hell don't practice what you fucking preach.  You wanted to know every damn thing about me.  You probably had my ass profiled before they stuck me with you, didn't you?  Tell me or not, I don't care, but you need to say something.  It's going to be Weiz to take you out and his fucking bullets hurt like shit.  I'll have fucking scars the rest of my life because of that fucker.  Do you want the same?  Do you want to leave your wife and daughter behind?"

"Telling you about this shit won't have any affect on this hit.  It's going to happen and that's that.  You just want to fucking know, don't you?"

She snorted.  "What a damn ego you have, Spankie.  Do you think I give a fuck?  Do you _really_ think I do?"

"Yes, I do, Jonella.  I think you care a lot," he said.  _God.  Did I say that aloud_?  Of course, he said it aloud.  Goddamn.  Might as well make it worse while he was at it.  "Otherwise, why bother?  It's the same for me."

"Oh shit," she said.  "I cannot believe you went there.  Oh goddamn, why did you say that?"  She jumped out of the chair and began scrambling around for her clothes.  She put on her boots, panties, and skirt.  She reached for her blouse and momentarily forgot that it was completely useless.  She strode angrily to the closet, opened the door, and yanked down one of Frankie's shirts.  She shrugged into it and screwed up her face at the heavy scent of his cologne.  Impatiently, she buttoned it, likely slipping the buttons into the wrong holes.  "I'll send you a fucking bill for my shirt, you asshole."

"Pax?  Where the hell are you going?  You have nowhere to go," he said incredulously, watching as she tried to tame her wild mane of hair.  

"Fuck off," she spat indignantly.  "I'll take my scrawny little ass back to the safe house where I'll continue to languish for three more goddamn months.  I'll leave you to your team, your princess, and Weizmulder.  It was really grand knowing you, Spankie.  Rot in hell."

Donovan chuckled and then flat out laughed.  She watched him, ready to kick his ass.  What the fuck?  "You're scared," he said as the realization hit him.  "You're fucking scared and you don't know what to do about it.  The self-assured psycho bitch from hell is scared.  A little thing such as admitting that you care for someone sends you off in frenzy.  Incredible, Pax, I never would have suspected that something like this would actually make you…human."

"Ha," she spat bitterly.  "The original machine man is calling someone else inhuman?  That is fucking rich, you witless prick."

"What is it that I'm saying," he spat.  "It's nothing.  It's simple.  It's basic.  You're as fucked up as I am about this, aren't you?  I first thought you didn't give a shit, but you do.  Incredible.  Jonella Paxton.  Scared."

"FUCK OFF," she roared.  "l hate you.  I loathe you.  I wish I had never fucking laid eyes on you."

"You've pushed my buttons many times, many, many times.  I've done many things I never thought I'd do in a million years because of you," he said with an evil little smile.  "You have buttons of your own, I've found them, and now you're playing on _my_ court for a change."

Oh, he was horrid.  He was wicked.  She longed to find his gun and put him out of his misery.  Weiz would then not have to bother at all.  "You're cracked.  You have fucking gone over the deep damn end.  Where the fuck are you going with this shit?  Drop it right now before you fucking say something you'll forever regret and I fucking do something _I'll_ fucking regret."

He shrugged.  "I'm done.  I've said what I've needed to say since you left three months ago."

"Fine.  See you later, asshole."  She turned and stalked toward the door.  

Donovan struggled out of bed and went after her.  He took hold of her arm and swung her around to face him.  "Where can you go?  Where?  You say you hate me, and to be honest, I'm not all that fucking thrilled with you, either.  You came to pass along classified information and I'm sure you're also here to help.  You're back for more, aren't you?  So, do what you came to do.  If you leave, one of us won't be alive this time next year.  There is no fear in me.  I can't say the same for you."  He pushed her out into the living room.  Before he closed the door behind him, he said, "You can have the couch."  Without another word, he slammed the bedroom door and locked it.

"You sorry ass son-of-a-bitch," she cried indignantly.  "I'll fucking bring Weiz to you!  Gladly!  Fucking bastard!"

Donovan turned away from the door and went back to his bed.  Just after he slipped under the covers, he called, "Good night, Pax!"

"FUCK OFF, SPANKIE!"

"I love you too, my darling sweetheart," he spat bitterly, sarcastically.                     


	5. Face Off

FACE OFF

_Goddamn that fucker.  When I see him, I'm going to fucking kill him_.  Pax sat up and stretched dramatically.  The couch looked comfortable, but it sure as shit wasn't.  Her back was aching miserably.  It felt as if someone had stuck a rock into it.  She was half tempted to knock down Frankie's bedroom door and make him pay.  _Just fucking wait until you come out of there, you fuck.  Oh just wait.  _Not giving one ripe fuck, she stripped out of her clothes from the night before.  She had hidden a duffel bag in the bedroom where the Donovan kid slept when she was over.  She dug out a fresh outfit and carried it back into the living room.  She needed to fucking shower, but the bathroom was in Frankie's bedroom and he wouldn't fucking let her in.  God she fucking hated that son-of-a-bitch.  She should have let him go, should have let Weiz take him out.  It would serve the prick right.  Yet, she couldn't let it go, couldn't let him go.  Frankie couldn't go out like that.  It wasn't right.  She simply wished the fucker would tell her what he had done that had led to the orders coming down.  The bastard never would, though, would he?  He would simply leave her hanging as he always did.  She wanted the file, wanted to look inside it to uncover his secrets.  

The bedroom door creaked open, snapping her out of her thoughtful reverie.  The stupid prick was looking for her, making sure she hadn't laid in wait.  Well, wasn't he going to be surprised?  She dropped her clothes on the floor, just inside the kid's bedroom.  She cried out savagely, mimicking some whacked out warrior princess and pushed her way through the bedroom door, knocking Frankie flat on his ass.  She stood over him triumphantly, her own height seemingly exceeding nine feet.  Naked as the day she was born, she resembled an incredibly starved Amazon woman.  She planted her hands on her hips and gazed down at him.  The door obviously had missed his face completely.  He wasn't bleeding anywhere.  _Damn it.  Should have timed it better_.  He gazed up at her, his eyes darkening with rage.  His face had begun to turn a violent shade of purple.  His teeth were gritted together and he was growling at her.  _Oh yeah.  Come on then.  Come on Frankie.  I've got you.  I've fucking got you_.  If he wanted to fight, by God, she was fucking ready to go.  Feeling a ton better, she turned toward the bathroom.  She had barely gotten two steps away when she felt his large paw grasping her ankle.  He whipped her ankle back with a sharp yank and she was suddenly aware that she was damn well going to fall.  She pivoted her hips and landed on her side.  If she had fallen on her face, some of her teeth might have gotten knocked out.  _Oh, you done pissed me right the fuck off, Frankie_.  She jerked her leg forward, escaping his grasp and whipped her body into a sitting position.  She felt the sharp bite of the carpet on her ass.  _Shit.  He has just fucking given me another cocksucking rug burn_.  He dove for her, clearly intending to beat the hell out of her, but she ducked and rolled away.  He recovered easily enough from her evasive maneuver and pitched his body forward yet again.  He landed almost perfectly behind her, his arms going around her waist, gripping her.  The added weight of his body brought hers down closer to the floor.  The fucker caught her.  He fucking caught her.  She dug her nails into his arms.  At first, he didn't move a muscle, but as she increased the pressure, he eventually loosened his grip, cursing her the entire time.  She slipped easily away and finally brought her body up to a standing position.  He was still down on the floor, gazing at his injured arm.  _Good.  I fucking made you bleed_.  After a moment, he recovered somewhat and came up to his feet.  He went after her again and she caught him with another right hook.  She hadn't aimed well, hadn't timed it enough to bring him much hurt.  He stood back and caressed his jaw, already sore from the punch he had taken the night before.  He wanted to go after her, but as angry as he was, there were only two options available to him:  killing or fucking.  He had no desire to do either just yet.

"I win," she spat through clenched teeth.  Primly, properly, she strolled into the bathroom and closed the door behind her.

Donovan was more than tempted to burst through the door and finish the job, but he hesitated.  It was just one in a dozen ways that Pax was using to push his buttons.  He resisted the urge and backed away.  When he had proper control of his faculties, he snagged a pair of pajama bottoms out of the dresser, slipped into them, and grabbed his robe.  He made his way toward the living room, grumbling incoherently, as he whipped his arms impatiently through the sleeves of his robe.  He didn't bother belting it.  He had zero tolerance for anything at that moment, even the simple movement of belting his robe.  He started the coffee, banging shit around while he was at it.  God.  He was on the verge of an explosive temper tantrum, and he was fucking making coffee as if he _needed_ caffeine.  He backed away again and leaned against the kitchen sink, grasping the edges tightly, his knuckles whitening from the strain.  He took several deep breaths before he felt normal again and when he turned around, he heard Pax moving around in the living room.  He clenched his fist inadvertently, once again tempted to take after her again, but he hesitated.  She would not push his buttons today.  He went back to the coffee maker and resumed his task.

After fifteen or twenty minutes, Pax entered the kitchen, twisting her hair into an impatient bun at the back of her head.  She exchanged a brief, cursory glance with Donovan before helping herself to the coffee.  He sidestepped away from her and approached the small kitchen table.  He pulled out a chair and sat down, crossing his legs casually.  He caught himself drumming his fingers against the table, but he didn't try to stop the annoying habit from rearing its ugly head.  There was some lingering shit between them and they needed to get it ironed out before anything could be done.  She turned toward him, coffee cup in hand, and stared at him with little interest.  She noticed that he was looking at her, trying to read her.  It was no use.  She had shut down her mind like a steel trap.  If he wanted to probe it, it wouldn't happen today.  She wondered vaguely if he were trying to decide whether or not he wanted to take up fighting her again.  _Any day.  Any time._  

"Last night, I didn't get much of an opportunity to ask you specific questions.  How did you get in here?"

Pax stared at Frankie for a moment and took a sip of coffee.  Goddamn.  It was better than he was in bed.  "I know how to pick locks, okay?"  He was about to say something in response, but she held up her hand.  "Come on, Frankie.  The building superintendent let me in.  He knew I was over here before, figured I came to bounce you around the room a couple times, and he was more than willing to accommodate my request."  She drained her cup in one long gulp and went for the coffee again.  After pouring her second cup of the day, she turned back toward him again.  "Actually, I have my ways, and I'm not inclined to tell you.  If you want to know, you'll just have to fucking beat it out of me."  She approached the table, pulled out a chair, and sat down.  "Frankie, no bullshit, I want to help.  I want to help stop this.  It won't take Weiz long to figure out I'm here.  It won't take long for him to figure out his hit has been ruined.  You need to take him out.  Get your team involved, let them help pull your ass out of the fire.  There's only one thing I wish you'd do.  I wish you'd tell me what the fuck is going on inside your head.  What did you do, Frankie?  What?"

He took a sip from his own coffee cup and gazed at her blankly.  "You're so fucking smart, figure it out yourself."  Without another word, he slid back from the table and left her.

She stood and went after him.  The fucker was going to talk to her whether he wanted to or not, even if it meant beating the shit out of him again.  Before she could begin her creative needling process, the doorbell rang.  Donovan glared at Pax and motioned for her to get back into the bedroom.  Without much fussing, she followed his gestured demands and slipped into the bedroom.  Sighing heavily, he went to the door and stuck his eye up to the peephole.  Goddamn it.  Remy and Stasia.  What horrid fucking timing.  How could he send them away without garnering suspicion?  He had no intention of having his daughter here while this craziness was going on.  Sighing again, he stepped back and opened the door.  

Remy was smiling until she saw the guarded, shadowed look on his face.  Her smile faltered just a bit.  "Hi," she said tentatively.  "I thought we'd surprise you."

Stasia held onto a huge picture book and she immediately demanded to be given to her daddy.  He took the squirming child into his arms and hugged her against him gently.  He stepped back so that Remy could enter the room.  He had no desire to leave her out in the hall, not with Bobby Weizmulder stalking around out there somewhere.  However, he also didn't want her to see Pax.  That would open up an entirely new can of worms altogether.  She closed the door behind her and started toward Stasia's bedroom.  Donovan had no idea that Pax had dropped her bag in there.  Remy set down Stasia's little overnight bag and her eyes spied a large unzipped duffel.  She had never seen such a bag before.  Her nosiness won out and she bent slightly and peered inside.  Women's clothing?  Ah.  She finally understood.  No wonder he had given her such a bizarre look.  She turned and left the bedroom.  Donovan and Stasia were on the living room couch together, and she was trying to coax her daddy into reading her favorite storybook to her.

"Frank?  Is there something I should know?"

Donovan looked up at Remy.  "I think this is a bad time for you to be here.  Something _is_ going on," he said carefully.

She nodded.  "Oh, I can see that."  He gave her a confused look.  "Do you think I don't know what's going on?  I saw the duffel bag filled with women's clothing, the type of clothing that your _friend_ is fond of wearing.  What's she doing here, Mr. Choose Not to Choose?"

"It's not what you think, Remy," he said quietly as his daughter played happily with her gigantic picture book.

"I suppose it's my cue to enter the room, eh," Pax said [_Oh shit_, Donovan thought.  _I so don't want to be here_].  "Good morning, Mrs. Donovan.  How are you?  It's been a long time, so glad to see you again."

Donovan groaned inwardly.  He felt as if he were some life-size doll between them, being pulled severely in both directions.  He stood with his daughter and carried her toward her room.  If they wanted to have a catfight, he refused to be stuck in the middle.  After they finished, he'd reemerge, but not until then.  Fuck it.  He didn't need this shit.  Actually, neither woman seemed to have noticed his disappearing act nor did they hear the thump of the bedroom door as it closed.  For a moment or two, they stared at each other without a word.  Eventually, Pax grew tired of the Mexican standoff, and she went around to the couch and made herself comfortable.  Remy went over to a vacant chair and sat down.  She crossed her arms over her chest and stared at the other woman for a long time.  How in the hell could she get back into Donovan's life with this woman here?  How would she stand a chance?  What the hell was she doing back?  Had she ever left at all?

"So, I see you're back," Remy began.  "For a woman who claims to hate a man, you're sure around him a lot."

Pax snorted laughter.  _Jesus jumping Christ on a fucking camel_, she thought.  "Look, Princess Donovan, this isn't some _Lifetime_ movie of the week or some fucking soap opera.  It's not fucking _All My Hospitals_ or _Days of the Restless_.  There is no 'oh, you have stolen my one true love' shit.  There's none of that going on.  In fact, baby girl, I fucking hate drama.  I'm here for a reason that has absolutely nothing to do with fucking him.  If you weren't so fucking stupid, you'd put your foot down.  I'm telling you again, for the hundredth time, and I hope this time, it penetrates your skull.  He doesn't want me.  He never has.  Jesus Christ!"

She settled back into her chair a bit.  This would be a long confrontation.  "Wasn't he with you before you left?  If you left at all?  Wasn't he there every day at the hospital, every night at your hotel?  Wasn't he?  He had to be.  He sure as hell wasn't here or at my place.  Where was he?  I know where he was.  He was with you, in your bed, _wanting_ you.  Am I wrong about that?  Am I?  I may a dolt, but I'm far from stupid.  We both know where he was.  I don't understand why you continue to deny how you feel about him.  It's obvious to me.  I have to tell you this, face-to-face, woman-to-woman.  I love him, too, and I don't give up very easily."

_Let me at her.  Let me the fuck at her._  Nope.  She wouldn't do it.  She'd sit back and behave herself.  She could tear this little blonde shit apart and it wouldn't take long to do it.  "If you think for one fucking minute that I'm dueling for him, you _are_ fucking stupid.  For the millionth time, _I don't want him.  He doesn't want me_.  It's that fucking simple.  Take him.  Take him today.  Take him right now.  He's here.  He's yours.  Fucking do it, bitch, because I'm getting sick of your ass, and when I get sick of people, I tend to lose my gentle nature."

"Do you think it's me?  Do you think we're not back together because of my failure to approach him?  Is that what you think?"  Before Pax could spit out one word, Remy held up her hand.  "Wait.  If that's what you think, Ms. Paxton, then I'm not the only stupid one here.  I've tried numerous times to apologize; I've asked numerous times for second, third, and fourth chances.  He won't do it.  He won't come back because of you and your hold on him.  How can I do anything with your presence lingering around constantly?  How can I do anything when he won't let you go?  I've asked him to choose and he damn well won't, because he can't.  What does that say to you?  I don't give up easily," she repeated, "and this time is no exception.  One last question, though.  Where did you sleep last night?  Hmm?"

Pax could literally hear her blood pressure rising.  "Somewhere you didn't."  She stood up and had the greatest urge to smack the bitch, smack her smooth, cool, blonde perfection.  She at first felt sympathy toward this bitch, but now, she felt nothing but rage and hatred.  The princess was delving into dark caves that she shouldn't have been exploring, that she had no right to explore.  "Say what you want, you fucking doltish princess.  I know the score better than you.  I have no hold on him.  None.  You have the hold.  You have had the hold all along.  You know what?  You're an idiot.  You fucking lied to him, lied about shit that you shouldn't have lied about.  You fucked up your marriage.  It had nothing to do with me.  Still, you've got the hold, bitch.  I'm done with you.  If you say one more goddamn word to me, I'm going to fuck you up."  She turned toward the kitchen and disappeared inside.

"Are the two of you done now," Donovan asked when the room suddenly got quiet.  He hadn't heard much of the conversation, just snippets of words here and there.  He had come out to make sure that they weren't choking each other.  

"Sure," Remy said.  "We're finished.  We just had a little girl talk, nothing more than that."  [_Uh huh, sure, I believe that_, Donovan thought].  "So I assume that now is a bad time for the baby to stay here?"

He nodded.  "It is.  I laid her down and she went to sleep."  He caressed the nape of his neck.  Migraine City baby.  "I'll come see her at your place."

"Okay," she said.  "Is she…will she be staying here?"

"She has to for now."

_How convenient_.  "I see."  Remy stood and went back to the bedroom and retrieved their sleeping daughter.  "When should I expect you," she asked when she moved back into the living room.  

"Late this afternoon.  I have several things that need to be ironed out," he told her.

"Oh, I can see that," she said, repeating the first few words she had said to him.  "Maybe this time, after this is over, you'll be able to make a choice, unless you've made it already."

He sighed and shook his head.  "Remy, please.  This is insane."

"Is it," she asked softly.  "Is it really?  When you came over last night and kissed me before you left, I thought 'oh damn, finally.'  Yet, you turned me away, and that's all right.  It's not the first time and won't be the last, I'm sure.  You told me once that I didn't know what I wanted.  You know, I think it's you now more than me.  I know what I want and apparently, it's unobtainable."  She laid Stasia's head against her shoulder and covered her ear.  "Very nice seeing you again, Ms. Paxton," Remy called.  She turned and focused her eyes on Donovan's face.  "See you tonight, Frank.  Call first, will you?  Goodbye."  Without another word, she turned and left.

"I suppose I fucked something up for you today," Pax asked suddenly.

He turned toward her voice.  She was standing in the doorway of the kitchen, holding a cup of coffee casually in her hand.  "Yes, Pax, you did.  You've fucked up lots of somethings.  There were a few here and there that weren't your doing.  Today wasn't exactly your doing."

"Your kid, she's kind of cute.  She doesn't look like you, though."  She sighed.  "I'm sorry, Frank, I really am.  I don't mean to burst in on you and fuck up your life.  I didn't want to do it this time, either.  I was content with leaving and never seeing your butt ugly face again.  If I could change it, I would.  But for fucking God's sake, would you _please_ work out your marriage?  Would you _please_ fucking take that woman back?  Goddamn, just tell her you love her, I know you do.  Just go back, go get her, and end this."

He gazed at her curiously.  "End what?  Us?  Are you saying there is an _us_ to end?  That's certainly news to me.  Why do you insist on this?  Why do you insist on pushing me forward?  Am I safer to you married?"

"Goddamn, here we fucking go again.  Drop it, Frank, and I'll drop it.  Would you please put on your fucking clothes and take me to your fucking office?  We have an ass to save for crying out loud."

He laughed bitterly.  "You know, one day I'm not going to let you off the hook so easily.  Prepare yourself, Jonella, because I have every intention of getting answers to those questions I just asked.  Not today, obviously, but damn soon."

"Prick," she spat.

He nodded almost respectfully.  "Bitch."  

He slipped past her and headed toward the bedroom.  Pax shivered.  She had an all-over body shiver, an 'ew' feeling that totally enveloped her.  God, the shit they were saying to each other lately sucked.  She didn't like this shit, didn't like this side of Frankie, and didn't like this side to herself.  What she wouldn't give for a magic wand to erase the last few months.  What she wouldn't give to have a thought in her mind that had nothing to do with Frank Donovan.     

               


	6. Disrupting The Nest

DISRUPTING THE NEST

As Pax walked grudgingly with Frankie out to his car, she scanned the rooftops.  Of course, it was pretty stupid.  If Weiz wanted to remain undetected, he could.  She was paranoid.  She'd rather take a bullet then allow him to be shot.  Whatever he had done wasn't worth all this.  Unusual for Frankie, he slid behind the wheel, but said nothing.  She had been in a car with him before and he normally popped on the radio to listen to some shitty ass music or something else.  Not this morning.  He seemed sullen and brooding, not in the mood to banter with her just yet.  She knew what had crawled up his ass and died.  She didn't want to tell him what he wanted to hear and like the prick that he was, he didn't want to go into whatever hell he had gone through during his CIA tenure.  Eventually, she would get it out of him, even if she had to beat it out.  Several minutes later after he parked his car, Pax started to get out, but Donovan grabbed her arm.

"Wait.  You can't just barrel in there half-cocked.  None of them like you, none of them know you're here.  I have to get them on this before you saunter in there, trying to take over," he said.  "You're not in charge, just like before."

She jerked her arm out of his hand.  "I promise you.  Once you put out Weiz's lights, I'm gone, forever.  I know it will please you immensely to never have to lay your fucking eyes on my face again.  I'm only here to do what I can.  I'm not here to play with your fucking team.  I'm glad they hate me; it's more fun that way.  If they loved me, I'd probably puke all over them.  Present me, Donovan, just act like you would if you never had any clue as to who I am.  I know you can act, I've seen it."

Exasperated, he sighed.  "Jonella, don't fucking start your shit with me."

"Eat me, you useless fuck."  She got out of the car and waited patiently for him to exit his vehicle.  He fixed her with a murderous gaze.  He wanted to choke her, she could clearly see that, and she wished he'd try.  She'd kick his ass some more.  

Donovan was already running late due to Remy's unexpected visit, so when he and Pax entered the nest, the rest of the team were present and ready to go.  The moment they saw Pax, they all asked the same question, almost as a collective group:  "What the hell is _she_ doing here?"  She smiled sweetly, contritely.  She wanted to rip into them all, especially Jake.  He was snarling at her again.  Goddamn what an attitude this guy had.  _Oh…but **you** don't have an attitude_?  Aw, fuck off Spankie.  After a moment, she noticed that Frankie had gotten quiet all of a sudden.  She turned toward him and saw that he was staring at a computer monitor, gazing upon the face of a man.  Cody had apparently decided to check out some news while they were waiting for their boss to show up for work.  She walked back behind Frankie to see what he was looking at.  _Today, former Vice President Gordon Thomas announced his intentions to seek the presidency_.  She watched Frankie curiously.  He seemed to be in his own little world.  After a few moments, he quickly recovered and took off upstairs without saying a word to anyone.

"You know," Cody quipped.  "Your presence always seems to have the same affect on the Boss."

"Suck my dick," Pax spat before taking off upstairs.  She banged on the door, but Frankie didn't respond.  He had locked her out.

Donovan sat behind his desk, quickly getting his own computer wired for sound.  He wanted to make sure he had heard what he thought he did.  Frighteningly enough, he had.  _Shit_.  It was now more than obvious who was behind the hit.  _It is time to repay all your debts, Frank.  Pay them all at once, won't you?  Pay them and smile while you do it, because if you don't, I know which string to pull_.  Oh yes.  Those strings had been pulled many times over the years.  He had been a living puppet in the hands of the CIA and the crusty Vice President who was the official head.  Outside his office, he heard Pax banging on the door, demanding to be let in.  He shut her voice out, shut _her_ out.  What the fuck would he do now?

*  *  *

_Donovan had made camp in the steamy, godforsaken jungle.  He was ready to pack up and head out.  He had had enough of this covert shit.  How many holds did he stockpile today?  Five?  Fifteen?  Forty?  It mattered little.  The fucking Colombian drug dealers would swipe them, now wouldn't they?  He sighed.  He never understood why he dug Pax out of his ass every time he turned around.  She had basically split a few days ago, her legs still healing from the bullets he put in them.  Both of them had been working heavily on this ring.  These idiots had ties to the American government, but they hadn't quite figured out what the connection was and who was involved.  When he discovered Pax's secret double life, they almost had enough to pounce on the unsuspecting fucks.  What made it worse for him was the fact that the very fucker funneling money into the trade was the goddamn Vice President, Gordon Thomas.  He wasn't just funneling money for drugs; he was also trading in guns and was likely involved with other illegal, covert operations.  It was enough to send him to prison, probably enough to send him to the gas chamber for treason.  Yet, they had very little to go by.  Pax had left before he dug up the VP's skeletons, but he thought she had some kind of encrypted document that named names.  Of course, the ungrateful bitch had failed to leave it with him, or so he thought.  As he sat and brooded during the hottest night ever recorded in South American history, his eyes caught sight of something peculiar.  He went toward the shiny object and dug it out from beneath his bedroll.  **Son-of-a-bitch**.  It was Pax's vodka flask.  He snatched it up, intent on chunking it out through the tent flap, but just as he started to swing it, a piece of the silver flask fell off.  When he looked at it, he smiled.  **God, Pax, if you were here, I'd kiss you**.  She had left a copy of the document on a microdiskette, just perfect for his laptop, also hiding snuggly beneath his bedroll.  It was all he needed now.  _

_He had started to dig for the computer when a sudden noise distracted him.  He stopped moving, stopped breathing.  There was someone outside skulking around where there should be no one.  He began to count to ten.  If the stalker didn't go away when he reached ten, the fucker was dead.  Before he had the chance to count to three, his tent suddenly imploded.  Struggling free of the canvass, he came up fighting.  He didn't know whom he was hitting.  It was too damn dark.  His attacker said nothing, did nothing other than counter his moves.  Donovan thrust upward violently, crashing the palm of his hand into the attacker's nose.  The man crumpled to the ground.  Breathing heavily, getting his rage in check, Donovan kicked out with his foot, rolling the body over.  **Oh fuck.  Oh fuck fuck**.  The man who attacked him, the one he had just killed was the VP's son, a rookie agent with no more than two weeks under his belt.  He was just a fucking kid.  Why the hell was this jerk attacking him?  **Had** he been attacking him?  After he calmed down, he scrambled over to his tent on his hands and knees.  He had a call to make._

_Very early the next morning, Donovan was on a plane to DC.  The VP had called him out, had asked to see him.  He wasn't in a hurry to face the VP.  He had killed his son viciously, in cold blood.  It didn't matter that he was defending himself or that it was an accident.  This act wasn't something that could be overlooked.  However, Donovan had his own confrontation to make.  He had brought along the encrypted diskette.  It was all the proof he needed.  Once he arrived at the White House, there were tons of press people milling about, doing interviews with the grieving father.  Donovan had heard the news reports, of course.  Nothing was mentioned about how the VP's son died, and Donovan thought that strange.  It didn't sit well with him and he knew he would face repercussions.  He didn't doubt the VP would make him suffer and he probably deserved it._

_Gritting his teeth and taking a deep breath, Donovan was led into the office of the stoic faced VP.  It was obvious the man had been crying.  For a moment, Donovan's resolve broke just a bit.  He had killed this man's son.  It didn't matter that the man before him had ties to every illegal thing known to man.  The VP approached Donovan, took him by the arm, and led him into a private conference room.  He was familiar with rooms like these.  They were **clean** rooms.  The VP wanted to run a game on him.  Donovan's anxiety level grew massively.  This was not good.  The VP was probably strapped and ready to take him out for his deed._

_"I know what you've done, Agent Donovan.  I know that you were the one who killed Rodney.  And you know I could have you arrested, tried, and executed in less than a month.  Your superiors have told me repeatedly that your hands are registered lethal weapons.  I thought that was bullshit, but apparently it's not.  After all, look what you did do Rodney."_

_"Mr. Vice President, what happened was an accident.  Your son wasn't supposed to be there, he shouldn't have been stalking around my tent.  I did what I had to do to survive in the field.  While you're pointing fingers, I think you need to point a couple toward yourself.  I'm in the possession of encrypted documents that will land you in the cell next door to me."_

_"Sure you do."_

_"Believe me or not, it matters little.  I'm taking what I have and frying your ass.  I suppose I'll see you around the cellblock, Mr. Vice President?"_

_Without waiting for the VP to react to him, Donovan left the man behind.  He had every intention of following through with his threat.  He wasn't a man who bluffed often, if at all.  He didn't make it back to the airport.  The VP sent about five goons to take him out.  He fought as valiantly as he could, but against five guys, the odds were not in his favor.  However, he wound up killing one of them and injuring another.  The three remaining men dragged him off into a limousine and carted him back to a small office building just outside DC.  The VP was awaiting him and he had brought a little gift of his own.  He had somehow managed to secure a recording that implicated Donovan in everything the VP had a finger in.  Basically, he was given a choice.  He could 'lose' the encrypted documents or face the consequences of not only murdering Rodney Thomas, but also for betraying his country.  As Pax would say, the VP had his balls over a fire.  Spitting venom, Donovan agreed to the terms of the VP's blackmail.  However, he had no intention of carrying it out._

_Accepting whatever consequences fell on him, Donovan took the information to the central office and presented it to his superiors.  He wasn't surprised to see the VP sitting in the main office, seemingly awaiting him.  For every misdeed the VP had done, one more was added to Donovan's docket.  Basically, what happened was his worst nightmare.  Frank Donovan, decorated CIA agent, the best man the agency ever had, was facing charges of treason.  He was immediately taken into custody and thrown in a federal holding cell.  As the VP promised, Donovan was swiftly brought up to face his charges.  He had little evidence to support his innocence, he was found guilty, and it appeared that he would be executed for something he did not do.  As he languished in federal prison for three or four weeks, his sentence loomed over his head like a dark cloud.  His superiors visited him after he had counted off four weeks._

_"We made a mistake, Agent Donovan."_

_Those six words would haunt him for the rest of his life.  What happened came directly from a fairy tail.  Someone, he wasn't sure who, had gotten him out of prison.  Donovan was offered an out at that point.  They would set him up at a safe house, give him boundless opportunities for his future, and make sure that his CIA records would be sealed eternally, only viewable by the upper elite.  Enraged at the injustice he suffered, he told them to fuck off.  He wanted to go forward with bringing the VP down, if only to satisfy his need for vengeance.  However, the VP was completely untouchable in this deal.  The upper brass would rather die than admit a mistake.  The punishment for the VP would be light and off the record.  However, if Donovan chose to deny the opportunity to get out, he would go back to prison.  Bartering for all he was worth, Donovan accepted the deal but only if the VP's deeds were 'accidentally on purpose' discovered.  He didn't care if they wanted to admit a mistake, the fucker had to pay.  The CIA boys said they could make it happen, but they reneged on the deal.  Donovan did not discover this until after he was sent to K & R.  When he heard the news, something snapped inside him, and he had the equivalent of a breakdown.  There was little else he could do other than step down and center himself.  He completely lost faith in the system and wanted nothing more to do with it.  However, when he regrouped six months later, he took on a vengeful attitude, declaring that he would make the VP pay somehow, some way.  He would not allow the fucker to ruin his life.  Donovan would ruin **his**._

*  *  *

_BANG.  BANG.  BANG.  _This was followed by Pax's indignant wail.  She could keep fucking knocking and her knuckles would eventually fall off.  For the time being, he felt extremely antisocial.  He was not fit for human consumption.  Not right now.  He was holding onto his rage with every ounce of strength he had in him.  The fucking VP was going to make a bid for the presidency, and what other way could he eliminate the only person who knew all his secrets?  He was sending in a cleaner, making sure that the assignment was actually legitimate.  The fucking Angels probably thought he _had_ committed a treasonous act.  Oh, this discovery had added a new, totally fucked up dimension to the insanity.  Shit.  Shit.  Shit.

"GODDAMN YOU, WOULD YOU OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR," Pax roared and then yelped in pain.

She must have finally broken skin.  Good.  Served her right.  After the rage died a little [just a little], he pushed back from his desk and wondered if he needed to let her in or if he should leave her and the team hanging.  He had no intention of digging out his skeletons.  He would never tell anyone what happened, but the team needed to be made aware of the hit.  He hadn't wanted to run his unit like this, but he didn't want them dragged into the middle of a personal vendetta.  The hit was a team thing.  The downfall of Gordon Thomas was a different thing altogether.  It was more of a Donovan thing, and it would be done.  Oh yes.  It would.  He stood up slowly and approached the door, releasing the lock.  Without opening it for her, he turned back to his desk and sat down.  Pax broke into the room, her bloody knuckles propped on her skinny hips.  She was gazing at him curiously, watching him.  Something had happened in here, something bad.

"What the hell happened in here?  Couldn't you hear me," she demanded.

He focused his dark eyes on her face.  He felt relatively calm and collected, which he didn't expect, and which scared the shit out of him.  "How could I not?"

She walked over to his desk and leaned over it, looking curiously at his face.  She had never quite seen Frankie like this before.  It was new and she found that she liked it less than when he tried to get mushy with her.  "What's up with you and the ex-VP, Frank?  Wasn't he in charge before you left the agency?  Did the orders for the hit come from him?  Is that it?  Come on, Frankie, you have to tell me; you have to talk to me.  Why would the VP do this?  What happened?"

The expression on his face was serious, deadly serious.  "If I told you that, Jonella, I'd have to kill you."

She approached the door and slammed it.  After that, she shot the lock and turned back around.  Donovan had yet to move a muscle.  "I'm not letting you out of here until you tell me."

"Then I suggest you take a seat, because you'll be waiting a fucking long time with me," he said flatly.

She marched over to a chair, dragged it around to where he sat, and she plopped down in it.  She rested her elbows on her knees and propped her chin on her hands.  "I'm sitting.  I'm waiting.  Tell me, Frankie, I'm not going anywhere.  What happened?  What did you do to make the VP want you dead?"  She leaned over and smacked his arm.  "Fucking talk to me, Frankie.  TELL ME!"

He closed his eyes tightly for the slightest of moments before opening them again.  His lips were pressed in a tight, grim line.  "I killed his son," he spat grudgingly.  Before she said a word, he held up his hand.  "Let me, Pax.  If you want to know, let me."

For the time being, Pax remained silent.  She sat back in her chair and crossed her arms and legs.  She listened raptly as he went through the entire, unbelievable story slowly, painfully.  The words sank into her brain and pricked it.  Treason?  He was in prison for treason?  The VP had set him up and the CIA had let him fall?  When he finished, he felt some of the weight lifting off his shoulders.  He had never told another human being any of this, had never felt the need to share it with anyone.  It was the first time he told the story and his last.  He would never breathe another word of this to another soul, and Frank Donovan lived many, many years.  Pax sat back and watched Donovan for a long time.  He didn't appear upset or shaken.  He remained calm and collected throughout.  However, she could see the relief, could tell he felt better getting the shit off his chest.  How long had he held all this in?  She finally understood his motivation for trying to help her get out.  He didn't want what happened to him happening to her.  Goddamn.  He wasn't half bad for a witless fuck.  _Dear jumping Jesus on a fucking camel_.  If she hadn't led her secret little double life, she could have stayed there, stayed and protected him.  How many fucking backup copies had she made of those files?  Dozens?  The incredulity of it all smacked her hard on the face.

"Oh Frank," she spat suddenly.  "Oh my God.  I am so sorry.  This is some heavy, heavy shit, and I could have helped.  Jesus, no wonder you fucking hate my ass so much.  I _hate_ me now."

"Jonella, this isn't your fault.  If you had been there, you would have gone down with me."

Sighing heavily, she stood.  "You're probably right.  Oh goddamn, no wonder you hate fucking doing shit for the CIA.  Ghost work they call it?  Oh, goddamn."  She turned away and started toward the door.  Before she made it three steps away, he took hold of her wrist.  

Drawing her back toward him, he said, "Pax.  Wait."

"What," she spat impatiently.

He stood to face her.  "Thank you for continually bulldozing into me.  Finally, someone else knows."

She laughed bitterly.  "Oh yeah.  Woo hoo!  The very person you hate more than life itself knows.  What a stupid shit you are.  The very person you shouldn't trust knows your deepest, darkest secret."

"I don't hate you," he said.  "I think you know that."

Aye shit, another awkward, mushy moment.  God.  She hated this shit.  Hated it, hated it, hated it.  "Tell me that again when you're trying to beat the shit out of me."  Her breathing had kicked up a pitch or three.  _Dear God, what the fuck is happening here_?

"Jonella, I do that because I'm trying to beat you out, and you don't make it easy," he said.

Uh God.  She had never seen him looking at her like that.  His gaze was steady and intense, heated almost.  "Cut the shit, okay," she said.  She didn't want him looking at her like that.

"Give me a minute, okay," he requested, mocking her a little.

She looked back at him, screwing up her nose a little.  "Huh?  A minute for what," she spat disgustedly.

He ran his tongue over his lips, wetting them.  "For this."  

Donovan pulled her toward him and laid a deep kiss on her lips.  It was a kiss, a _real_ kiss, and the weirdest thing [_damn…lots of 'weirdest' things happen to me, huh_] she had ever experienced.  She suddenly didn't find it or him so damn disgustingly distasteful.  She found him sort of…cool.  When he broke the kiss a few moments later, he pressed his lips gently to the side of her throat before pulling away.  He went back to his desk and sat down, as if his behavior stunned him as much as it stunned her.  The awkwardness creeping back in little by little, Pax moved toward the door, bumping her shin on the damn chair in the process.  She let herself out.  _Did what I think just happened **really** happen_?          

    


	7. Vices And Vice Presidents

VICES AND VICE PRESIDENTS

The former VP and the current front-runner for the presidency, Gordon Thomas, was on top of the world.  His chances for securing his party's nomination were better than seventy percent.  It seemed as if the general public remembered the job he had done when he was still the VP.  It was all so beautiful.  Oh yeah.  However, in his dainty reflections of his run as VP, he had conveniently forgotten the CIA op who murdered his son in cold blood.  It mattered little that he had had Rodney sent in to kill whomever he encountered.  All he knew was that he had lost a child, a link to immortality.  The smug cold-blooded bastard had dared to threaten him with some piddly files he and his she-bitch partner had dredged up.  Of course, the VP was too smug to realize that his misdeeds were far worse than what Donovan had done to survive.  However, Thomas didn't care.  He wasn't a man who cared about much unless it affected Gordon Thomas.  If something touched him or his family, he was ready to kick butt.  Frank Donovan had overstepped the bounds when he dared to touch Rodney.  Perhaps Rodney's death was more responsible for his decision to seek out Weizmulder than the dirt.  Not exactly.  He had gotten into some very seriously bad smelling doodoo.  He hadn't realized that the charges for those misdeeds would even touch treason.  Yet, had he really cared?  The VP had enough pull to make up his own files, to screw with a man's life.  It had been relatively easy and quite fun.  He didn't think it would take much to convince the CIA that their top man had gone to the other side.  After all, he had just lost his partner to the Angels, his hometown girlfriend had dumped him unexpectedly, and he thought someone in his family may have died or moved.  Whatever the case, it wasn't hard to show how Donovan had become despondent enough to commit several treasonous acts.  In fact, it was relatively easy.  Who was more believable, the second in command of the US or some stoic pissant little CIA puke?  Donovan had gone down swiftly, of course, Thomas made sure of that.  He was to face the death penalty without reprieve.  It was amazingly wonderful.  He didn't have much time to celebrate, though.  Thomas was never sure, but something had happened.  Some little piece of evidence had come in and Donovan was freed from federal prison after no more than a month.  They had set him up, set him up as well as that she-bitch partner of his.  It made him nervous, but the funny thing was, no one had ever come knocking on his door.  When he decided to seek the presidency, his world was flowing smoothly until he thought of Donovan.  What if the puke decided to spill his guts?  What if he finally spoke the truth?  The thought worried him tremendously.  After all, it was going to affect Gordon Thomas.  

Before him on some high-tech videophone, Bobby Weizmulder was awaiting instructions.  Thomas didn't say much to the man; he wanted to first collect his thoughts.  The "Donovan File" was more conjecture than truth.  There were dozens of little goodies inside that alluded to his prison time and the fact that he had 'bribed' his way out.  Thomas had creatively made up everything but the treason charge.  That had been real enough.  Weiz didn't know that Donovan was an innocent man.  All he knew was what he had been told by his superiors.  Basically, Weiz was taking his orders directly from the former VP, and why not?  He was going to be the President soon enough.  By the time the primary elections were held, Donovan would be six feet under.  Weiz was speaking constantly, droning on and on and on.  Thomas' hearing was going in and out.  He'd hear a word here and there, but ignore most of them.  He didn't want to know the specifics, he just wanted the job done and done right.  _Blah.  Blah.  Blah.  Wah.  Wah.  Wah.  _Would he ever shut up?  _Stop talking and start shooting, you moron!_  The only thing he heard was a name:  Jonella Paxton.  Thomas looked up abruptly, as if he wanted to ensure that he had heard the name.  Wasn't she the ex-partner she-bitch of Donovan's?  Wasn't she the one who screwed up a cleaning job under Weiz's tutelage?  Wasn't she the one that Weiz said had gotten into a safe house?  

"What did you say about Jonella Paxton," Thomas asked.

He cleared his throat.  "She's back.  She somehow got out of the safe house.  I saw her with Donovan today.  I don't think she's with him for a class reunion.  I'm certain someone gave her the lowdown on the hit."

"Take her, too."

*  *  *

Pax stood quietly in the corner while Frankie went over the details [or as many details he wanted to share] with the UC agents.  For a moment, they had forgotten she existed, and that was okay.  She was a bit lost in thought.  For once in her miserable life, she was absolutely rendered speechless.  She couldn't stop thinking [damn, she hated thinking] about Frankie's confession.  She had had no clue as to what he had suffered.  Prison?  Treason?  Execution?  The words crawled into her brain and hooked its claws in deeply.  All this had happened not long after she left on her selfish little mission of self-destruction.  Basically, she had chosen a twisted career objective and left Frankie hanging out in the cold.  She had told him earlier that he had saved her ass more times than she could count, and it was true.  Had she returned the favor?  Oh hell no, she had not.  She had gone off on her AOP kick, even after he tried to fix it where she wouldn't have to go.  _You're selfish, Pax, damn selfish_.  She sighed deeply and wrapped her arms around herself.  She wanted out of here, wanted to go, wanted to escape to Miami and forget this shit.  She couldn't stand the thoughts swirling in her head.  Pax didn't like to think, didn't like to mull over anything.  She wanted everything handed to her in a hard and fast manner.  That way, she didn't have to _feel_.  She didn't like feeling, either.  She wanted no part of it.  Yet, it was inside her, all over her, and she couldn't run from it, couldn't hide.  She was in her own little world.  It was almost like the feeling that swept over her right before she scored another unit.  She was a part of things, but not a part of them at the same time.  She was lost in a weird daze and daydreaming.  Pax saw and heard very little.  The agents seated around the conference table stood and dispersed, and she was completely oblivious to it all.  

When the team had walked away, Donovan's attention was drawn to Pax standing in the corner.  She didn't seem as if she was attached to the same reality as he.  Her eyes were focused on the floor and her arms crossed tightly against her chest.  He wondered if she had heard a word they'd said.  Had she heard the plan, what they were setting up, what their roles would be?  From the look on her face, she hadn't.  He had seen Pax many ways, but not like this.  For a moment, he couldn't move.  He sat back and watched this fascinating new aspect of her character.  She seemed…vulnerable almost, hesitant.  He backed away from the conference table and slowly approached her.  She didn't move, blink, or flinch.  Did she even realize he was walking toward her?  What the hell was going through her mind?  She didn't 'see' him until he was nearly right up against her.  The moment she felt his body heat, she looked up, her face red from embarrassment.  She wanted to back away, but there was nowhere to go.  His body had her blocked in.  Pax felt a string of obscenities boiling from the pit of her stomach, threatening to bubble up out of her throat, but she couldn't speak.  How often did that happen?  

"Jonella?"

He was gazing at her intently, trying to read what was going on inside her head.  She had encased her mind in a steel trap and she hoped that he could not penetrate it.  The one thing she feared was having Frankie inside her head.  It wasn't a nice place to be.  There was too much going on inside it, too many things she didn't understand.  Today, his confession made it much worse.  She wished a thousand times that she hadn't pried, hadn't forced him to tell her.  Yet, she hadn't exactly forced him, did she?  He was reluctant, but he told her anyway.  Why would he tell her?  Why didn't he tell someone else?  She didn't want it, didn't want it eating away at her.  She didn't want him probing her mind.  It hurt.  Oh how it hurt.  Nothing had ever hurt so badly, not even those pointed bullets as they pierced her flesh.  His voice calling her name, her Christian [_ha…Christian…funny_] name stabbed her, bringing even more pain.  Ugh.  _I don't want this.  I don't want to carry this with me.  Please don't make me do this_.  She sighed heavily and finally raised her head a bit.  A look of sheer, utter amazement crawled across his face.  Were those tears he saw in her eyes?  Was she crying?  He had never seen her cry.  Hell, he wasn't even sure she had tear ducts, for Christ's sake.  It was a completely perplexing situation and he didn't know what to do or say, except utter her name again.

Pax was trying to find an escape route around Frankie's body, but there were none.  He wasn't going to let her go, that was obvious.  He would push her mercilessly until she told him what was going on inside her head.  _Do you want to know?  Do you **really** want to know_?  "Get back, okay," she asked.  "I can't breathe."  She had meant the words to come out harsh and forceful, but they were no more than weak little whispers.  God how she hated feeling like a wimp.

Donovan honored her request and stepped back, which gave her enough room to slip past the wall of his body.  However, he was quick and he reached out to grab her arm before she got totally away.  He pulled her back toward him, but didn't let go of her.  "Jonella, what is it?  I've never seen you like this."

"And you never will again," she whispered.  "Let me go."  She tried to wrench her arm out of his grip, but he held fast.  "Frank, please."

He pinned her body against the wall, keeping one hand clamped to her arm while the other rested on the wall near her head.  He had no intention of letting her escape until she told him what the hell was going on.  "You've bulldozed me, pushed my buttons, stuck your nose into places where it never belonged, but I've talked to you, I've told you things I have never told any other person in my life.  And yes, you are part of my life; regardless of how distasteful you find that thought.  What is it, Jonella?  If you won't tell me, can I guess?"  He stared down at her and waited patiently for her to respond.  When she said nothing, he continued, "You didn't abandon me.  You took off and made some shitty choices, but you didn't just leave me hanging.  How many times do I have to tell you that if you were there, you would have gone down?  You couldn't have stopped any of this, even if you had nine million copies of those disks.  What I did for you, I did freely because God help me, I can't stay away from you.  I try and try and try, but you don't ever go away.  You can't stay away from me, either, you know?  If you could, if I could, why would we keep doing this?  Why couldn't we just go on?"

"I don't want to hear this," she said quietly.

"I know you don't," he said, "but you will.  You will hear it and listen to every damn word coming out of my mouth, because I'm sick of the avoidance, sick of the hiding, sick of the lies."  He sighed.  "Aren't you?"

Pax slid her body downward and managed to escape the solid wall of his body.  "What good will it do to say I am?  I'm not?  Look at me, Frank.  Take a long hard fucking look.  Look at me.  Tell me what good any of this is going to do?  I know you can see it.  I know you can feel it, but are you going to admit it?  Hmm?  Are you?  So when you're chastising me for avoiding, hiding, and lying, think about why it is that I do it.  No shit, Frank, I don't want to talk about this again.  I can't take it.  As soon as we get this crazy hit stopped, I'm out of here for good.  That thought, Frank, is why I'm avoiding this conversation, because we both know what will eventually happen."

*  *  *

Pax and Donovan rode silently to his apartment.  This was the first time the silence was deafening between them.  Normally, they were angry and shouting back and forth, but not today.  There was a new emotion that had come into play.  Hurt.  He had been pissed at her, enraged with her, ready to murder her, but he had never shared hurt with her, not like this.  Her guilt was eating her alive, it was obvious, but there was so much they had yet to say to each other, so much they _needed _to say, but they never would.  God.  He hated the tense fog hanging in the air, hated it immensely.  He had barely gotten the car parked in the garage when Pax jumped out of the car.  He was certain that she was going to make a run for it, but she didn't.  She stood by the car, her arms wrapped around her body, and she waited for him.  Keys in hand, he got out of the car and slammed the door.  Without a glance her way, he took off toward the elevator.  If she wanted to follow, she could.  If not, she could.  It didn't matter to him.  Her heels clicked hollowly behind him, but she wasn't rushing to catch up.  If she didn't make it to the elevator when he got there, he wasn't going to hold the car for her.  He stepped inside the elevator and stood patiently waiting for it to close.  Just before it did, Pax slipped her scrawny body between the decreasing space and stepped in beside him.  They rode the elevator up to his apartment in silence.  They left the elevator and moved toward his front door, again, in silence.  Pax stood back and waited for Donovan to unlock the door, in silence.  Donovan opened the door and slipped inside.  Pax followed him inside, in silence.  He closed the door behind him, in silence.  When Donovan turned to look at Pax, she was almost right up against him.  What was this?  What was she thinking?  What was going on inside her?  She stepped up to him, even closer, and cupped his face into her hands.  Her lips met his softly, gently, but he pressed forward, deepening the kiss, slipping his tongue into her mouth.

The urgency, the brutality was gone.  There were times they literally ripped each other out of their clothes.  Actually, they did that _all_ the time.  Yet, it didn't seem right tonight.  Neither of them could explain the difference, neither of them had the desire to.  There were other matters needing attention.  She broke the kiss first, but he wasn't done.  He claimed her lips again, thrusting his hand into her wild mane of hair.  When he broke the kiss, his mouth moved to her throat, his teeth biting and nipping.  She was pretty much glued to the floor and didn't know what was going on until she felt his hands opening her blouse, not ripping it, and not tearing.  Her blouse was gone before she even realized it was happening.  Her bra went down the same numbing, confusing avenue.  Before she knew it, she had not one stitch of clothing on her body.  Somehow, someway, Donovan had gotten undressed in much the same fashion.  It was alarming how neither of them could exactly recall who undressed whom.  

He took her lips again, slowly backing her toward the bedroom, not pushing, not shoving.  He didn't understand what was going on here.  He didn't understand why it was so different this time.  She broke the kiss and backed away a few steps, but he wanted more, he wanted to explore this strange change in their lovemaking [_lovemaking…when did it become **that**]_.  She took his hand and led him toward the bedroom.  He went down first and she came after.  She tossed all her hair over one shoulder and leaned down to take his lips again.  Had they ever kissed this much before?  Had they ever touched each other before?  Wasn't it more like releasing just enough clothes to accommodate their need?  She pulled back, sat up, and straddled his waist.  Her hands ran down from his face to his chest and back up again.  He wanted to speak, to ask what was happening to them, but he couldn't.  He was afraid that if he opened his mouth again, the moment would be shattered forever.  What was he feeling?  What was going through his mind?  For God's sake, did this actually feel _right_ or was he kidding himself?  For a moment, Pax couldn't move.  She couldn't stop running her hands over his face and chest, couldn't stop kissing him.  Jesus.  What were they doing?  Just what in the hell were they doing?  Why was she subjecting herself to this?  Oh God.  Oh no.  Did she?  Did she actually feel it?  Did she…  _No, no, no.  I won't go there, I simply won't go there_.  He rose up a little and covered her mouth with his.  Before long, he had lowered her to the bed, his body hovering over hers.  He touched her face, allowing his hand to drift down to her throat.  Why was it that tonight, there wasn't a desire to strangle her when every other night it was all he could think about, all he could feel?  They had barely touched each other beyond kissing but he was more than ready to be inside her.  It was strange and more than unsettling.  When his hand settled on the side of her leg, she parted her thighs for him, basically begging for him to come inside her without uttering a syllable.  He slipped into her, slipped into a spiraling abyss of confusion, need, and desire.  

*  *  *

_How utterly fricking touching_, Weiz thought as he peered through his super spy binoculars.  So, Pax wasn't just back to help out her old friend.  They were really and truly getting it on.  Wow.  He wondered how serious it was getting.  They were distracted enough that he could have easily taken a shot and eliminated them both at once, but that was never one of his things to do.  He enjoyed the element of surprise, but what the hell.  He was a sentimental type of guy.  Let them enjoy their last few days on earth.  He couldn't believe what he was seeing or hearing.  Jonella Paxton was in love.  Incredible.  He had never thought the bitch had the heart for it.

*  *  *

Pax was wide-awake.  Something was picking at her, needling her, and it wasn't just the weird ass sex she had just had with Frankie.  She dragged her body out of bed and got down on her hands and knees.  She ran her hand along the edge of the bed and felt nothing.  She went over to Frankie's side and repeated it.  Nothing.  Figuring her hunch was wrong, Pax walked over to the window.  In a genuine "Pax Moment," she noticed that there was a dab of bird shit on the outside of the windowpane.  At first, she wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it.  However, her paranoia wouldn't let her rest.  She raised the window, feeling the ice-cold air blowing in and she snaked her hand around to the blob.  It came off easily in her hand.  She laughed a little as she imagined the picture she painted holding bird shit in her hand.  Pax brought her hand back inside and she closed the window.  She carried the blob over to the bathroom and slipped inside.  She popped on the light and peered down at the dab of bird shit.  

"Son-of-a-bitch," she spat.  The 'bird shit' was a super sensitive bug.  


	8. Meetings, Greetings, And Decisions

MEETINGS, GREETINGS, & DECISIONS

Donovan awoke from a fairly light sleep.  He glanced at the bedside clock and saw that it was almost seven.  Damn it.  He had overslept.  Either that, or Pax had shut off the alarm.  Bitch.  He noticed that she was laid out beside him, the covers pulled securely over her shoulders.  Sleeping, she was actually very demure, innocent almost.  He imagined this was what she looked like as a child.  He shook it off and slid out of bed.  He had a visit to make, one that he should have made last night, but he and Pax had gotten a little…carried away.  Damn it again.  He didn't take much time searching out his clothing.  He grabbed the first items he saw which were a tee shirt and a pair of ratty blue jeans.  After he made his visit, he would return home and get himself together properly.  _Get myself together.  What a thought.  It's not happening, not like this_.  The moment Donovan had stepped out the door, Pax raised her body up into a sitting position.  She had hidden the bird shit bug under the pillow.  While Donovan was out scouting around, she had her own visit to make.

*  *  *

Remy had opened the door to make her exit to take the baby to Renata's.  In the process, she ran smack into Donovan's chest.  She gasped a little and stepped back.  The moment Anastasia saw her father, she squealed happily and began reaching for him.  He smiled at her gently and took her into his arms.  God he loved this little girl so damn much it overwhelmed him.  He fixed his dark eyes on Remy's face and waited for her to say something, but she was a little hesitant.  She was still a bit pissed off about his girlfriend/lover/fuck buddy, whatever she was this week.  He had also neglected to come see his child last night and she was pretty ticked about that as well.  Sensing he wanted to talk, she stepped back into the apartment as he followed behind.  When she had the door closed behind them, she turned toward Donovan and saw that he had taken the baby over to the couch.  She sat on his lap and babbled at him, trying to tell him all about her Aunt Renny's new puppy.  Donovan hung on her every word, as if he knew exactly what she was talking about.  Without a word, Remy moved over to her phone to call in.  She had a feeling that she wouldn't make in to work today.  She knew he had something on his mind, but she allowed him to visit with their daughter first.  Whatever they needed to discuss could wait for a few moments.  She turned and walked toward her bedroom to give them the privacy they needed.  

After some time had passed, Remy heard a soft knock at her bedroom door.  She had actually been dozing, but didn't realize it.  She struggled to sit up and almost didn't make it before he opened the door and peeked inside.  "Remy, can we talk?"

She wiped the sleep out of her eyes and nodded.  "Yeah, I think we need to, actually.  I thought you were coming yesterday afternoon.  What happened?"

There was a pointed innuendo buried within her words that he didn't care for.  She knew what happened, why play coy?  "There's been something going on and I couldn't get away.  Please, before you start hurling accusations at me, would you just set it aside so that we can talk like adults?  What happened to that ability we had?  Where did it go?"  He sighed.  "I'm breaking my own rules here, I'm sorry."

"Before we continue this _adult_ conversation, Frank, I have to know something.  Do you love her?  I know I asked how you felt about her before, but you never elaborated, never actually said the words.  Do you?"

The question was loaded more fully than an M-16.  He sighed heavily and leaned down a bit, placing his hands between his knees.  He wanted to look at her when he spoke, but he didn't know if he could.  She wasn't an idiot, she could read his body language, and he struggled with his inner demon until he fixed his eyes on her face again.  "I don't know how to answer that, Remy.  To be perfectly and bluntly honest, I don't know how or what I feel.  It doesn't matter what I say or what I don't, will you believe it?  Will you take my word at face value, or will you continue to question it?"

"Touché," she said.  His words hurt, but there was truth to them.  Regardless of what he said, she wouldn't take it.  She hadn't been taking it since the day she first saw him with Jonella Paxton.  "You're right, I wouldn't.  I'm confused, Frank, very confused.  You're sleeping with this woman and don't try to deny it.  You are.  I see that as establishing some kind of bond, some kind of relationship with her.  I don't believe you're just screwing around.  Maybe at the beginning, I could have bought it, but not after I saw you together that day at the hotel.  I knew something more was there on that day.  I knew it.  I knew I would never have you again, not like I want.  This is completely selfish of me, but I don't care.  When I insisted that you take me to the hospital, only a little part of me wanted to thank her.  The rest of me wanted to see how she felt about you.  She loves you, Frank; it's all over her.  I made a mistake, a horribly stupid mistake, but why can't you see past that and give me a chance?"

_Decisions.  Decisions.  _What could he say?  What could he do?  Jesus.  He thought coming here would help alleviate some of the confusion and that it would help him finally make up his damn mind.  It didn't.  It had simply brought on more confusion, more grief.  Her plea was simple and straightforward.  They had been married two years, had been together almost three and a half.  They had had a life together, a _real_ life.  The one thing that crushed those thoughts was the look on her face when they had the final meeting with the attorneys.  She had either been a damn good actress or she really felt that way.  She had had issues with his job before and probably still had them.  He didn't like this, didn't like to be drawn two ways at once.  He had left one woman in bed and another sat before him basically begging him to take her back.  He loved Remy, he made that no secret, couldn't hide it, couldn't lie about it.  What about Pax?  What about her?  _No.  Go away.  Get out_.  Goddamn it.  Goddamn it all.  Did he?  Did he actually love her?  Was that it?  Was that what prompted last night to happen?  Was he finally seeing it?  Admitting it to himself?  _Dear God, it's true.  I love her.  I do_.  What was his true motivation for coming here this morning?  He wanted to see his daughter, but he also wanted to give himself a test, one that would finally give him the push he needed to end this heartbreaking game.  One more time, one time would pay for all.  _I must give this one little pull.  I have to know._

His head aching enormously, his heart pounding viciously, he reached for her and she was there as if expecting this very thing to happen.  He took her lips brutally, his tongue invading her mouth as if he were using it as a tool to capture what was lost.  Her hands went into his hair and his roamed her body restlessly as if discovering it for the first time.  Before long, they were down on the bed, half undressed.  Her body was familiar, soft, and inviting.  She gave way before him without trying to make it into some kind of competition.  He hadn't realized how much he missed her until he tasted her flesh, heard the soft whimpering that emitted from her throat with every little move he made.  Had it been like this with her always?  God.  It had been so very long since they touched each other intimately, he honestly couldn't remember.  However, some little something, some little nudge poked him, prodded almost.  Where would they go from here?  If he made love to her, if their lovemaking led to some kind of hesitant reconciliation, how would he handle the other woman who tugged so roughly on his heart?  He hadn't resisted her, not at the beginning, not after her release from the hospital, and surely not after she came back.  He couldn't do it, couldn't…  The passionate daze began to lift as he felt Remy's hands reaching for the zipper of his jeans.  Reality hit him as hard as an anvil to the back of the head.  He drew away from her, exhaling deeply.  He went for his tee shirt and threw it back over his head.  For a long moment, he couldn't look at Remy.  Rebuffed, she was gazing up at him curiously, wondering if she had done something wrong.  Immediately sensing that the mood had completely changed, she silently went about buttoning her blouse and she leaned over to retrieve her skirt from the floor.

"What was it this time, Frank," she asked quietly.  "Did you see her face instead of mine?"

Ashamed, he lowered his head.  He had led her right into this and denied her, not once but twice.  "No, that's not it."  He looked up at her.  "If I made love to you, what do you think would happen?  If I came back, if you came back, I don't know-"

"You don't know what," she demanded.

"I'm afraid that if we were to get back together right now, that it would eventually lead to your being out of my life permanently.  I don't want that to happen.  I'm not ready to be with you or her.  I can't do this; I can't lead you into this trap.  I _won't_ do it."

She shook her head and sighed.  "So will you tell _her_ that after you fuck _her_ tonight?"

He gazed at her incredulously.  "Do you think this is easy for me?"

"Get out, please?  I don't want to talk about this anymore."

"Remy…"

"I told you to get out," she said through clenched teeth.

*  *  *

While Donovan and Remy were exploring the heartache and turmoil of a crumbling relationship, Pax was out walking.  Right after Frankie took off to toddle with his princess [she wasn't fucking stupid, she knew where he was going], she had taken the bird shit bug, knowing that Weiz was monitoring, and she had called him out.  She had told the ruthless fuck to meet her at a designated time and place.  She didn't care that he would probably blow her to fucking bits, but she at least had to try to talk him out of killing Frankie.  She'd give herself over in a heartbeat.  As Pax tromped along the busy sidewalk, she wondered if Weiz would even care that Frankie's treason charges were complete bullshit.  She continued her determined stroll, her spike heels clicking on the pavement.  Pax was distracted and had her eyes focused on her feet.  She couldn't think straight today, couldn't get the shit out of her brain.  Why the hell had she come back?  Why the hell hadn't she just made a fucking phone call?  Goddamn it.  How many times had she told Frankie, herself, that she didn't want to think or feel.  It wasn't her thing and when it happened, it completely took control of her.  Fuck the fucking fuckers.  A hand shot out suddenly, encasing her upper arm with a vise-like squeeze.  She barely had time to react before she was dragged off into a darkened alley.  When she realized it was Weiz, she rolled her eyes.  _A dark back alley?  Jesus Christ.  What a fucking cliché_.  She popped him with her free hand and he released her roughly, almost making her fall on her ass.  _Okay.  Here's where he shoots first and asks questions later_.  He didn't.  Weiz simply stood and gazed at her curiously, wondering what the hell she was doing out here.

"Pax, you have five minutes to live.  In that time, you'd better tell me one hell of a good story," he snarled.

She rolled her eyes.  "Real slick move, there, buddy.  A bird shit bug?  Goddamn.  How utterly fucking James Bond of you.  You should have known better than to bug the place.  Didn't you think I'd find it?  Didn't you think Donovan would have?  What can I do to make you stop this hit?"

"By killing me, but then someone else will just take over.  Have you ever taken a peek at your lover's record?  Have you seen the shit he's done?  The shit he got away with?  Have you, Pax?  Do you want to see it before I put a bullet in your brain?  By the way, you have about four minutes."

"Weiz, the shit in Frankie's file is bullshit.  He didn't do any of that stuff.  It was that VP that fuck running for President.  That's the one you should be after, not Donovan.  He told me everything and I believe him.  Frankie's many things, but not a liar.  I'm telling you, Weiz, if you take him out, you're killing an innocent man."

He chuckled a bit.  "Damn.  You really got it bad, don't you?  It's a weird thing seeing such a misfit in love.  I'd say Donovan could probably sway you into believing he's Santa Clause.  Where do you want to take it, Pax?  The head?  Chest?  Stomach?  I thought that since we're old friends, I'd give you some options.  About two minutes.  Want to see the file?  I can get it in less than five seconds."

"Weiz, for God's sake, fucking listen to me.  Leave my feelings, or lack thereof, for Frank out of this.  Do you think I'd fucking risk my damned neck if I didn't think he was telling the truth?  Call Dicky.  If you don't want to, then let me.  Dicky's the one who let me out.  Would he do that if this weren't legit?  I'm no hypocrite.  I realize that we've both taken out tons of people, and most of them deserved it, but this hit is a dud.  You're taking out a fucking innocent man, a man who has a two-year-old child.  Instead of taking him, take me.  Take me and call it even.  Don't let this crooked fucking VP order a hit that should be him.  Use your brain, Weiz, use it for something other than a hat rack."

*  *  *

Gordon Thomas was becoming impatient.  It was time for Weizmulder to move in and take care of business.  He wanted Donovan dead before the debates in three days.  It wouldn't take long for Donovan to start spilling the beans.  He was certain his former CIA brethren would willingly help him with whatever evidence he needed.  Shit.  He had tried calling Weizmulder a dozen or more times.  He needed to hurry the hell up and do his damn job.  If the CIA assassin didn't move soon, he would take matters into his own hands.  He had killed before and had no qualms about doing it again, especially when it was the man who had killed his son.

*  *  *

"Where the fuck did you go," Donovan demanded as soon as Pax entered the apartment.

She slammed the door and turned to face him.  "I had an appointment, okay?  I had some shit to take care of, and you need to drop that daddy tone before I kick it out of you."  She started past him, but he took hold of her arm and spun her around to face him.  "Frankie?  What the fuck?"

"You're a moving target.  Do you want more bullets lodged inside you?  Do you want to bleed out again?  Do you?"

She jerked her arm out of his hand.  "I think you should be worried about your ass, not mine.  I need to talk to you."  She didn't sit.  Instead she went over to the couch and leaned on it.  "I talked to Weiz today.  That's where I was."

Angrily, he stalked toward her and grasped her upper arms in his hands.  He looked down into her face.  "What the hell were you thinking?  Do you realize what you've done?  He could have fucking killed you, Jonella.  When are you going to end this death wish of yours?  Wasn't the first time enough?  Damn it."  He released her and backed away.  "You never learn, neither do I."

"Frank, would you shut up and let me tell you what happened?  I talked to Weiz and he almost fucking blew me away, but I told him that the file was bullshit.  I told him to find Dicky.  He's giving you a reprieve for now until he can dig up the truth."

He went back toward her, taking her arms in his hands again.  "What did you do, Jonella?  There are no true reprieves, not unless someone is in your situation.  What did you do?"  When she didn't answer him, he shook her, and then glowered down in her face.  "_What did you do_?"

"I traded something with him for the reprieve," she said quietly.  "For the time to allow him to research those charges."

"Jonella, you didn't," he spat, shocked.

"I did.  I came here to tell you this before I go back to meet him."

He released her yet again and he turned around.  "Damn you, Pax.  Why did you do it?  Why the fuck did you do it?  You had everything in your hands and you're sacrificing yourself.  Tell me why."  He turned back around to face her.  She was staring down at her hands.  "Jonella…I don't know what to say to you.  How could you do this?  How could you give yourself over for a reprieve that may or may not happen?  I won't let you do this.  I won't let you leave even if I have to watch you day and night."  He stalked toward her one more time.  "There's an easier way to do this.  I mean it, Jonella.  You won't do this, not while I'm breathing.  If I have to, I'll put you in protective custody.  Do you understand?"

"You can't stop this, Frank.  It's going to happen.  You might as well back off and let me go," she said calmly.

He shook his head.  "Back off and let you go?  Are you insane?  Forget it, Pax, it's not happening.  You're cracked if you think I'm letting you walk out to your death, not when we can stop my hit from happening."  She rolled her eyes dramatically when he took hold of her again.  He stood her up to face him.  "You won't do this.  I won't let you."

"I told you, Frank, you can't stop it.  What's done is done."

"The hell you say.  I won't let you out of my sight.  I told you.  Don't you believe me?"

She nodded.  "Oh yeah, I believe you, but just let it go.  Nobody will miss me when I'm gone.  I have no family, no husband, no kids, no dogs, no cats, no whatever.  But you cannot go anywhere, you're needed.  You have shit to live for and I'm not about to let you get shot down like a dog.  Fuck that.  I'd rather die than see the people you love suffer.  I think I've made them suffer enough."

"You know who's suffering right now?  I am.  Who are you trying to save?  Me?  You?"  One of his hands released her and it came up to caress her cheek.  He leaned down a bit and kissed her very gently.  When he broke the kiss, his mouth moved down to her throat.  "I won't let you," he whispered against her flesh.  "Do you hear me?  I won't let you."  His lips found their way back to hers and he kissed her deeply.

She broke the kiss first and sighed.  "I don't want you to die."

"I'm not going to die, not like this," he said.

Goddamn.  What was happening to her?  She had never felt so fucked up in her life.  How long had she been denying what she felt?  Months?  Fuck.  _Jesus jumping Christ on a fucking camel_.  She loved this fucker.  She did.  She couldn't lie to herself any longer.  She was willing to die for him, to put her own ass on the line because she fucking loved the witless fuck.  Goddamn it all to hell.    


	9. Weiz's Dilemma

WEIZ'S DILEMMA

Pax woke up feeling foggy and disoriented.  Beside her, Donovan hadn't rolled over twice.  He was completely dead to the world.  She sat up and peered down at him, waiting to see if he would react.  He didn't.  Good.  Pax began to slide off the bed.  Before she completely got off it, a hand shot out and gripped her arm tightly.  She turned quickly, noticing that Donovan had suddenly awakened.  Shit.

"Where are you going, Jonella?"  He was gazing at her intently, steadily.  "We settled this last night, didn't we?"

"We settled nothing," she spat.  "_You_ settled it, Frankie, you settled it and then you fucked me.  You can't watch me day and night."

Donovan moved off the bed and took hold of her before she could make a run for it.  Hanging onto her arm, he dragged her over to the closet so he could dig out some clothes.  After he gathered what he needed, he dragged her to the bed and sat her down.  He would cuff her once they arrived at the nest.  He wanted to see her escaping those.  Silently, she watched him dress, contemplating her next move.  When he finished, he took hold of her arm again, and he dragged her off into the living room.  He ducked into Stasia's room and snagged Pax's duffel bag.  He released her again and thrust the bag toward her.  The fucker.  He wanted her to fucking get dressed right in front of him.  He was doing every fucking thing in his power to keep his promise of watching her.  Son-of-a-bitch.  She sighed and took her bag from him.  Unzipping it impatiently, she dug out a crumpled outfit.  He stood back with his arms crossed over his chest.  He stared at her with his right eyebrow lifted, challenging her, daring her to defy him.  She dressed with jerky, impatient motions.  He wasn't even going to let her take a fucking shower.  As much as she loved the fucker, she hated him.  When she finished dressing, she twisted her hair up and secured it with a clip.  She stood and stared at him, seemingly asking 'what next?'  He took hold of her arm and guided her body out the door and down to the parking garage.  He unlocked the car and forced her to get in on his side.  He climbed in after her and focused his eyes on her face.

"Where is Weiz staying," he asked suddenly, unexpectedly.

She gazed at him incredulously.  What the fuck?  "Frankie?  Have you lost your fucking mind?  He'll fucking shoot you, you idiot."

"If you go, I go, it's as simple as that," he said nonchalantly as if he were simply talking about a picnic.  "Take me to him, Pax.  He will renege on his contract.  If he refuses, he'll have both hits in sight.  Where is he?"

She sighed.  "You're a fucking lunatic."  She sat back in the seat and crossed her arms over her chest.  "Start the fucking car and I'll tell you where he is."

*  *  *

Weiz had spent an interesting night trying to dig up the information Pax had given him.  He wasn't exactly a computer expert, but he was pretty good.  If any records existed of a CIA fuck up, he was sure to find them.  After all, it hadn't taken long to dig up Donovan's CIA records.  He typed in every name combination known to man and didn't come up with anything.  However, another name entered his brain.  It was one he hadn't tried and he almost felt stupid.  He typed in 'Rodney Thomas' and pressed enter.  Nothing.  Goddamn.  Was Pax just pulling his leg to buy time for her lover?  Why hadn't he taken her out when he had the chance?

Pax and Donovan sat outside the hotel.  She was so very tempted to reach out, grab the door handle, and make her escape, but he was watching her cautiously.  He didn't trust her and wasn't afraid to show it.  He glanced at Pax.  "I'm getting out first and then I'll come for you.  If you run, I'll give you a matched set of scars on the back of your legs.  Is that clear?"  She said nothing.  She stared at him maliciously.  "Fine," he spat.  He opened the door on his side and slid out.  He kept his eyes focused on her the entire time he was walking around to the passenger side.  Donovan opened the door and presented his hand.  His body was held stiffly and guardedly.  He didn't doubt that she would try to make a run for it.  "Come on, Pax, don't make me come after you."

She gave him her hand, so very tempted to yank him down and blacken his eye.  _Let's see if you can fucking follow me with your eye dotted, you witless fuck.  _Pushing her aggression aside [_goddamn…this **love** thing has me all fucked up inside_], she allowed him to pull her up to her feet.  Once he had the door slammed behind him, he released her hand and clamped his onto her upper arm again.  She bruised easily and could just imagine the lovely one that was forming at this very second.  He walked with her body held closely against his and she hated keeping pace with him.  His legs were longer, but she walked faster and her impatience was gigantic.  She didn't understand why he didn't just let her go.  His life would even out so beautifully without her presence.  She had come to realize many fucking things since she had returned, and none of them were nice.  How many times had she told Frankie and/or his princess that she didn't come around to rock the boat?  Dozens?  Millions?  Intentionally, she really _didn't_ want to interfere, but since that hospital shit had happened, she was acting like a fucking jealous twit.  Part of her had accepted the CIA/FBI deal because she wanted to get away from Frankie, wanted to run, wanted to avoid, avoid, avoid.  From the moment she came back, from the first night he had taken her to bed, she hadn't _cared_ to start shit.  In fact, she pretty much fucking dug it.  But there was a practical side to her craziness.  She wasn't stupid.  She realized that she couldn't be the woman he needed; she couldn't offer him what another could.  Regardless of his stubborn insistence, he needed his fucking wife back.  _She_ was the only woman he needed, the only one that could give him what he wanted.  With her absence, he would see that, he would _finally_ see it.  Perhaps then, he would go back and do what he needed to do to make himself and the princess happy.  Yet, he _did_ hold onto her, no matter how much she denied it.  He held onto her because he thought he loved her, but she knew he didn't, not really.  He was fucked up and simply thought he did.  _Goddamn, why is his wife so fucking stupid_?     

The two of them walked into the lobby of the hotel.  In a way, Donovan was hoping that Weiz would know of their presence in advance.  Surely, he would be monitoring the situation.  If not, he was dumber than Donovan once thought.  They stood in front of the elevator and waited impatiently.  When the doors finally came open, Donovan entered the car first and then dragged Pax inside.  During the entire trip to the hotel and up to the floor they needed, neither of them spoke.  Pax was afraid she'd start hurling insults at him and Donovan was afraid she'd start begging him to let her die.  She wanted to break away, wanted to jerk her arm from his grasp, kick him in the family jewels, and make a run for it.  However, he was hyper alert to every move she made.  If she tried anything, he would damn well fucking shoot her as he promised.  When the elevator came to a jarring halt at their floor, Donovan dragged Pax out and forced her along to the hotel room Weizmulder occupied.  Donovan drew his weapon one-handed.  He would not walk into that room unprepared regardless of his 'reprieve.'  The door opened long before they reached it.  Weizmulder gazed upon them curiously, but he wasn't in the least bit surprised.  He noticed Donovan's drawn weapon, but he was unarmed.  He had given the SOG leader a reprieve; he needn't worry about getting shot…not yet.  

With a smirk, Weiz said, "Drop the pea shooter, Donovan, didn't your lover tell you?  She bought you some time.  What did you do, deliver her to me to make my job easier?"

Donovan fixed his dark eyes on Weiz's face.  It took extreme control on his part to keep from shooting him.  "No.  I came to dissolve whatever deal you made with her.  Get out of the door, Weizmulder, so we can settle this once and for all."  He watched as Weiz shrugged his shoulders and stepped aside.  Keeping his eyes on the man the entire time, he dragged Pax along with him.  

"Pax, I still haven't found any evidence that clears Donovan's _checkered_ past.  Are you sure any exists or were you snowing me?"

She sighed, wishing desperately that the witless fuck would release her.  She wasn't fucking going to run…not yet.  "You're looking for records, right?  Do you think the CIA boys would leave their dirty laundry out to be found?  Goddamn it, Weiz, I thought you were smarter than that.  You need to find the files that I had gathered back then.  You need those, not the computer shit.  Nobody, even Frankie's computer geek, could find them."

"Fairy tails piss me off, Pax.  What files are you talking about?"

"My fucking files, you dimwit.  Those were the fucking files I was talking about.  Before I joined your group, I made a fucking dozen of those microdiskettes.  I left one for Frankie and hid the rest of them at various locations.  You need to find the diskettes.  Once you fucking find them, you'll have your goddamn proof."

He didn't know whether or not to believe her.  However, thus far, she _had _been quite straight with him.  "Where are they, Pax?  Where did you put just _one_ of them?"

Before she said one word, Donovan interjected.  "If she tells you where to find the disks, will you release her?  I won't let her talk until you make a deal with us."

She sighed angrily.  "Goddamn it, Frankie, don't do this."

He stared at her.  "Be quiet," he hissed.  He focused his eyes back on Weiz.  "Do we make a deal or do you fulfill your contract right here and now?"

"Frank, for God's sake," she implored.  "You don't know what the fuck you're saying."

He ignored her.  "Well?"

Weiz sighed.  Sheesh.  He had never been torn like this before.  Weizmulder didn't like dilemmas.  "You're on reprieve, Donovan.  I don't break deals like that once I make them, it gets messy.  I'll release her from her previous obligations _if_ and only _if_ these disks truly exist.  Once she gives me the location of _one_, I need to have some insurance, you know?  You'll need to hang out here until I get back.  I'm not saying that Pax is lying, but this is more of an act of good faith.  You understand my dilemma, don't you Donovan?  Of course, if I don't find the disk, we'll have a whole new situation unfolding before us, now won't we?"

Donovan squeezed Pax's arm.  "_Tell him_," he spat through clenched teeth.

She sighed.  "Okay.  You'll find one at my old place here in town.  You remember that rank apartment I lived in, don't you, Weiz?  I dug a hole in the bedroom wall and slipped one in there.  I plastered it over when I moved out.  It should still be there.  The rest of my copies are scattered about DC.  The one at my old place is the only one I have here."

"Very fucking well, Pax.  I should hope that you'd willingly find your way to the bedroom?  It's the only room with a lock on the outside."  Weiz jerked his head toward the room.  "Move on, now."

Donovan pushed Pax along to the room and dragged her inside.  A few moments later, Weiz slammed the door and locked it.  Another span of time passed before they heard him exiting the room.  At that point, Donovan released her and holstered his weapon.  She turned on him suddenly.  "_What the fuck did you think you were doing_," she roared at him.  "He could have fucking shot you down.  You say _I_ have a death wish.  I'm beginning to wonder if it isn't _you_ who has it."

He backed up and sat down on the edge of the bed.  For a few brief moments, he buried his face into his hands.  He glanced up at her and noticed the rage painted so clearly in her eyes.  "You bargained for a reprieve, didn't you," he spat sarcastically.  "He wasn't going to shoot me, he was going to shoot you."

"You're a fucking idiot, Frank, a fucking clueless idiot," she spat.  She moved over to a small table and boosted herself up onto it.  "Why, Frank?  That's all I want to know.  Why can't you let me do this?"

He looked up at her incredulously.  "_Why_?  Jonella, do you have to ask?  _Do you_?  What greater purpose would your death serve?  Perhaps that's what we should discuss since we have all the fucking time in the world."

_Oh hell, here it goes again_.  "I've disrupted your life more times than I can count on my fingers and toes.  You've never heard this argument before, but since we are _stuck_ like this, what the fuck?  I might as well tell you, huh?  Your princess harps at me constantly, harps that you're holding onto me or some shit, harps that she can't find her way back into your heart because I'm here.  It doesn't fucking make a lick of sense, but I do know what happens when we get together, especially since I got out of the hospital.  If I permanently leave the picture, you can do what you need to do.  You can go back to her, get your life back, be the father to your kid that you want to be.  Do you get what I'm trying to tell you?  How many times have you _tried_ to get back with her with me here, in your face?  How many?  Once I'm gone, you won't have any reason to stay away.  I wonder about that reason.  Do you use me as an excuse because you're afraid to try again?  Is that what it is?"

He laughed.  The sound was bitter, sarcastic.  "You don't know anything," he said.  "What if I told you I'd seen her since you've been back?  What if I told you that I nearly made love to her but couldn't because of you?  Your presence is just a tiny, tiny part of our problem.  I'm not afraid of taking her back, but I am afraid of failing again if I do, and it would fail, I know it would.  You above all others should know I hold grudges and a part of me won't ever forgive what happened.  What happens when we're together has nothing to do with my reluctance.  I won't lie and say I know what the hell I'm doing, because I don't.  I don't want you to die; I don't want you to disappear forever, because I couldn't take it.  You ask why I won't let you go, it's because I can't.  It's not _you _who has the hold on me.  _I _have a hold on _you_, andI cannot release it.  I cannot release _you_.  I don't _want_ to release you.  Nothing will change my mind about this."

Pax gazed down at him.  "Do you know what you're saying?  I have elbowed my way into your life.  You don't need that.  You need your wife.  You need your daughter."

He stood up suddenly and approached her.  He gripped her forearms in his hands.  How many times in so many days had he fucking grabbed her arms?  "Jonella, what I don't need is for you to tell me what I do need.  It's your fear working on you again; don't you think I can see that?  I don't choose to go back to my ex-wife because it won't work, not with this anger and hurt built up inside me.  That would be the easiest choice to make, but I don't choose easy, I never have.  There are two of you trying to tell me what I want, but neither of you seem to think I have a sound mind of my own.  You tell me what I want and need.  I'm getting fucking sick of it, Jonella.  I can tell you exactly what I want and need at this moment.  I want you, I need you, to be alive.  You have almost died for me once and I'm not about to let you do it again.  Give me credit, Jonella.  Look at me.  Isn't it obvious?"

"What do you want from me, Frank?  What is it?  What is it that you want?  Tell me I'm wrong to say that this can't happen.  Tell me.  You can't, can you?"  He said nothing, but kept a steady gaze with her.  "You may know what you want right now, you may know what you're doing right now, but you have to ask yourself a basic question.  In the long run, Frankie, who is it that you see beside you?  Who is it?  I know it isn't me; I'm not fucking naïve enough to believe it is.  Besides, I don't want this shit, I don't need it, and I fucking don't need you."

A smug grin touched his lips.  "You're in denial, Jonella…complete and total denial.  I can see it all over you."

"Fuck you," she snarled.

"Vulgarity won't change anything.  In fact, it convinces me even more.  That's your defense mechanism, Jonella.  I've known you long enough to see that.  Spit at me, curse me, hit me, do what you want.  I know.  I see it."  His dark brown eyes locked onto her deep blue ones.  "Are you going to let me kiss you or do I have to force you?"

She opened her mouth to spit out an indignant curse, but he didn't give her a chance.  His mouth covered hers, drowning out her obscenities.  His grip on her arms loosened and his hands moved up to cup her face.  She struck out at him, but the blow was more like 'damn, why are you doing this to me' than one of malice or anger.  It didn't break his concentration or his hold.  Once his hands moved from her face, he slid his arms around her to draw her closer against him.  Her hands feebly continued smacking him, cursing him for her mouth, which he had claimed as his own.  She hated him.  She loathed him.  He disgusted her.  She loved him.  Dear God.  She loved him.  Why _now_?  Why _her_?  With one final, forceful push, she finally loosened the grip his lips had on hers.  She could speak and breathe now.

"What are you going to do, Frank," she asked, almost sneering.  "Are you going to fuck me on this table in the room of the man set to kill you?"

_Button, button, where's the button?_  "I would think you could find another button to play with, Jonella.  The same ones get boring after a while," he said with his own sneer.

"Cocky, aren't you," she spat.

"I've been told I am," he replied smartly.

"I fucking hate you," she spat viciously, tempted to smack him.

He laughed sardonically.  "No you don't."

Donovan kissed her again and she moaned in frustration.  He couldn't keep doing this to her.  He pressed forward savagely, his tongue invading her mouth, insistent and probing.  She fought with herself at first and refused to return the kiss.  He was basically doing most of the work, but after a moment, she relented [_fuck it_].  He wouldn't release her until she gave in.  _Wow, this is one battle he finally won.  I don't like these odds_.  Her arms snaked around him and she began to respond to his kiss.  When he felt her resistance slipping away, his grip on her body loosened and his hands began their restless movement.  Oh, Jesus.  He had the best fucking hands.  He could do more with them than a man could do with his entire body.  Ah.  They were back to the fast and furious.  Her skirt was pushed up crudely, her thong snapped in two by an impatient tug of his hands, and hers had worked open his pants, freeing him.  Within moments, he was inside her, pounding away madly, his lips against her ear.  

This was completely insane.  She had to fucking learn to just say no.  


	10. Weiz Gets Wise

WEIZ GETS WISE

After their crazy ass interlude on the table, they separated, seemingly overwhelmed by what happened to them.  Both of them were fucking cracked for having sex in Weizmulder's room.  Pax couldn't believe it.  As soon as she got off the table, her broken thong panties fell to the floor.  She sighed, snatched them up, and took them into the bathroom.  She hid the thong at the very bottom of the wastebasket.  She hoped Weiz wouldn't find them.  _What does it matter?  He knows we're fucking, he recorded the shit.  _She groaned.  The damn room was drafty and she wished she had worn slacks.  Impatiently, she paced about the room with her arms wrapped around her body.  She couldn't yet look at Frankie, but he had moved back over to the foot of the bed.  From the periphery of her vision, she could see him buttoning his shirt and nonchalantly tucking it into his slacks.  She wondered if he had intended to go this far with her here?  Of course, their conversation had steered them right toward this, hadn't it?  Goddamn.  This love thing was making her soft.  She didn't understand it and wished someone could explain it to her.  No one could, not even Frankie, because she just about bet a golden frog ass that he didn't give a fuck about her.  _You know that isn't true_.  Did she?  Did she really?  When she made a pass in front of Frankie, he was gazing up at her, wondering if she would stop.  It was driving him nuts.  She acted as if she were a trapped animal of some sort.  She probably was, or at least felt that way.  For the thousandth time, he asked himself where he was taking her, where he was leading them both.  Did he even know?  Did he even care?  Did she?  

He had finally had enough.  "Pax, would you stop pacing?"

"Would you stop breathing," she snarled.  

"This is getting old and tired," he said with a sigh.

"God.  Don't tell me you want to shrink my head again, Frank?  Please stay out of there, I'm sick of it.  You got what you wanted, so shut the fuck up."

Donovan was so very tempted to grab her and kiss her again, but he hesitated.  Since the time Weiz had left, all he could think about was kissing her, touching her, and making love to her.  She currently wanted none of the above.  He longed to experience the sensation and the emotion that had consumed them both after he made his confession to her.  Nothing like that had happened since.  Even their interlude today seemed more like the old way.  Yet, she had gone back to pushing his buttons.  That wonderful, wonderful defense mechanism had sprung up.  Of course, he played right into her hands, just as he always did.  Pax moved back toward the table again.  Instead of hoisting herself up, she dragged a chair over to a spot where Frankie couldn't see her, and she dropped her body into it heavily.  She was completely out of her mind.  She knew this.  If she wanted to shoot for avoidance, who was he to say anything?  As he had known before the insane scene on the table, they were stuck together until Weiz came back [_if he ever did_].  He couldn't take the silent treatment.  He never could.  It was heartbreakingly similar to his fights with Remy.  He turned his head to look at her.  She had her eyes focused on her fingernails.  She was purposely not looking at him.  She sensed his eyes on her, but she didn't meet his gaze.  The only way she could deal with it, with _him_, was if she had her back facing him.  She would still feel his eyes, but at least not see him from the periphery of her vision.  She stood and approached the window.  She moved the heavy curtains aside and gazed at nothing in particular.  She heard a small, rustling noise, and she thought Donovan was probably going to walk across to the bathroom.  Instead, she felt the solid wall of his body pressing against her.  She didn't want him to do this to her, didn't want his hands on her.  She wanted to fight him away, but she couldn't move.  She uttered a couple of curse words [_fucking shit_] under her breath as she felt his arms going around her waist.  He wanted to hold her, but she didn't want it, didn't need it [_how many times have I thought that today_], but again, she couldn't move.  She pounded her flat open palm against the window frame and cursed again, this time a bit louder.  His embrace didn't break.  Instead, it tightened and he rested his lips against the side of her head.  God, what did he think he was doing?  She pounded the frame again and realized that she was crying.  She couldn't fight him away because she was too damn busy fighting herself, fighting her feelings.  He pressed his lips against the side of her head and continued to hold her.  Little by little, her resistance began to wane, and the tension flooded out of her body.  Her hands settled on top of his and gripped them tightly.  He held her until they heard a key rattling in the lock.  They broke away from each other and turned toward the door.  Donovan's hand instinctively went for his weapon.  Neither of them knew what to expect.  As the door opened and Weiz stuck his head instead, they both realized that he was still unarmed.  Pax nodded firmly when she saw the small diskette in his hand.  He had found the files.  FINALLY.

"You're not off the hook, yet, Pax," Weiz said.  "I have to inspect this disk first.  Will the two of you mind if I lock you in together again?  I'm sure you can find something to keep yourselves occupied, now can't you?"  Weiz turned and slammed the door.  They heard the key rattling in the lock again.

"Fuck," she grumbled.  "I hate these damn games.  Why can't he just fucking let it go?"

The two of them didn't bother sitting down.  By that time, both of them were pacing, nearly bumping into each other a couple of times.  The longer they stayed together, the weirder she felt.  This had to end.  This absolutely had to end.  After another fifteen or twenty minutes, Weiz came back to the door and unlocked it.  Donovan immediately inserted his body between the door and Pax's body.  She griped behind him, but he ignored her.  Weiz was smiling and holding the diskette in his hand as if it were a huge wad of cash.

"Well, Pax, it looks like you've turned over a new leaf," Weiz began.  "The VP is a naughty, naughty guy.  This lets you off the hook, both of you.  However, I'm faced with another dilemma.  Have I said yet how I hate dilemmas?  Anyway, I have a contract, and I need a unit.  What do the two of you suggest?  Can you give me the VP?"

"We can give you nothing," Donovan said stiffly.  "Thomas is mine.  I have my own score to settle.  Go to him and tell him that you earned your unit.  I can find a place to stay and lay low."

Weiz gave Donovan a confused, startled look.  "Are you requesting the assistance of a Death Angel, Donovan?  Is that what I'm hearing?  The VP ain't so fucking stupid.  He'll want proof of your death.  He'll want your head or some shit.  I can't just say I did it, and he believe it."

"Wait a minute," Pax said.  "Can you not get your tech guy in on this?  What's his name?  Cody?  What if we dummied up a newscast?  Use some of your cock and bull, Frank.  Pull some strings.  I know you can."

Donovan glanced at her briefly and nodded.  "Oh yeah.  Cody can do just about anything.  What about you?  He has orders to take you out, too?  Doesn't he?"

"Oh yeah," Weiz said, "I sure do.  She'll have to go wherever you go."

Pax groaned out loud and took a sideways glance at Donovan.  "Kill me now," she said under her breath.  "We only have to stay isolated until you make a meeting with the VP.  If you 'kill' us tonight, we can have the newscast ready by tomorrow.  You can have your meeting with the VP to verify everything.  That's where the human bulldozer and his bulldozerettes can ride in and save the day."  She glanced at Donovan.  "Well?  Is this something you can jive with?"

"If we can make it happen, let's do it," Donovan said.  "What about you, Weiz?"

He shrugged.  "Sure, why not?"

*  *  *

Donovan and Pax went to the nest where there were four agents confused and addled.  For once, Jonella Paxton was quiet.  She hadn't uttered a single word, even toward Jake, whom she always had an insult for.  She sat back with her arms crossed over her chest and actually allowed Donovan to dominate the meeting.  The plan was simple.  Tonight, Weiz would 'take out' both Donovan and Pax.  Tomorrow morning, the news would broadcast the horrible story.  It seemed easy, too easy, but it was the only thing they had, the only way they could confront the VP.  

After they dispersed, Donovan took hold of Pax's arm and led her to the crib.  "You're probably going to kill me when I do this, but I have no choice."  Without another word, he pushed her into the room and locked the door behind him.  He waited for a moment and listened for her hissing, clawing, and cursing, but she didn't say a word.  Bizarre.  He had been preparing for several world wars and an atom bomb.  He turned toward the door.  "Jonella?  I'll be back in an hour."  Nothing.  Not a word.  "Pax?"  He could hear her moving around, making herself comfortable on the couch inside the room, but she refused to speak.  When he saw her again, they would have to have a very long talk.

*  *  *

Remy stood back from the door with a sigh.  When Donovan called earlier, she had wanted to deny his visit.  However, she couldn't deny him time with his daughter.  She allowed him to enter her apartment and she watched as he went directly to Anastasia, who was playing happily in the middle of the floor with her building blocks.  As her father joined her, she squealed loudly and knocked over a tower she had been meticulously building all afternoon.  He helped her rebuild it as she babbled in her excited garbled language.  Remy started toward her bedroom, but Donovan called out to her, and she stopped.

"What is it," she asked impatiently.  Since his denial of her, she had been less and less enthused with him.  She didn't want to become one of those ugly, bitter ex-wives, didn't want to start using their daughter against him.  If she continued to linger around him, she was almost certain that she would become the woman she loathed.  

He sighed as he stacked a block on top of the tower before Stasia knocked it off.  Apparently, she didn't care for the color green.  "Remy, the case we've been working on is about to be resolved.  You may be hearing or seeing the news tomorrow, I want you to ignore it.  Whatever it is that you hear about me won't be true; it's a part of the operation."

She stared down at him curiously.  _Whack_.  Stasia knocked off another block her father set up.  She didn't like yellow, either.  "What are you talking about?  What's going to happen?"

He set up another block, this one blue.  Stasia left it.  "I can't go into details, you will hear something horrible, but I want you to remember that it didn't really happen.  When you hear it, you can't tell people it isn't true, but you'll know it isn't.  I know the baby is too young to understand.  However, I don't want her hearing it.  I think you should call in sick at work and stay home with her.  Don't take any calls or visitors.  Can you do this?  _Will_ you do this?"

She nodded.  "Of course."

*  *  *

Donovan sat on his bed and listened to the shower run on and on.  Earlier when he retrieved Pax, she was still in her weird quiet mood.  She had said very little to him and no matter how much he goaded her, she refused.  He ran his hand through his damp hair.  He had taken a shower before her and spent about an hour cleaning up the bed from the 'hit.'  She had been in the damn bathroom for an hour already.  Something was eating at her and he knew what it was.  He wished she would shake it.  It was driving him a little nutty.  He stood suddenly and moved toward the bathroom.  When he opened the door, Pax's back was turned to him.  She stood under the spray of water and hadn't made much progress in getting the shit off her body.  He reached out and opened the shower door.  Pax turned and glanced at Donovan.  She wanted to protest, but she didn't have the energy.  He stepped into the shower with her and placed his hands on her shoulders.  _Uh God.  He wants to fucking hold me again_, she thought.  He took the sponge she was gripping in her hand and squeezed it to work up the suds.  He began to wash away the red that streaked her arms and shoulders.  She was so afraid, he had never seen her like this.  Little by little, he washed away the red that she had been unable to remove due to her bizarre paralysis.  When he finished, he threw the sponge down and brought his lips to her shoulder.  He turned her to face him and he kissed her gently.  She accepted his kiss and parted her lips against his.  In relative short order, the kiss deepened and became consuming.  

"Come on," he whispered against her lips as he tried to urge her out of the shower.

"No.  I don't want to do this anymore," she said.

"Too late," he said.  "You've kissed me, so I have your consent.  You can't back out now."

"Goddamn it," she moaned.  

He drew away from her and grasped her hand.  "Come on," he urged again.  "I want you."

"No you don't," she said.

"Yes I do."

Without waiting for her to speak, he pulled her forward until she was completely out of the shower.  He took a towel and wiped away the excess water on her body.  Carelessly, he tossed it aside and took her hand again.  He led her into the bedroom and kissed her again.  His hands traveled down her naked back and moved back up to plunge into her hair.  

She broke the kiss.  "I don't think…"

He cut her off with another kiss, this one brief and soft.  "Do you think I'll listen?  Let go, Jonella.  _Let go_."

He kissed her again, slipping his tongue between her lips and allowing it to touch hers.  He backed her up to the bed during the kiss and she drew her legs up around his waist.  Supporting her for a moment, he lowered her to the bed and came down after her.  His touch was incredible, heated.  She understood why they had always gone at it fast and furious.  She hadn't wanted to experience the _real_ Frank Donovan, the one who had been revealed to her the first time he had made love to her [_not the fucking, the lovemaking…there is a difference, believe it or not_].  When he sank into her, she actually heard herself moan.  What the fuck?  She had never moaned or groaned or any of that shit.  She had always thought it was disgustingly sickening.  _Away we go again_.  

Later, Pax sat up in bed with her knees drawn up to her chest and her arms wrapped around them.  Donovan lay beside her propped up on his elbow.  He had been watching her for a long time and she hadn't moved a muscle.  "Have you thought about what you're going to do after tomorrow night?"

She shook her head, but she wouldn't look at him.  "Uh uh.  I guess I want and need to finish the rest of that safe house prison sentence.  Then I'd like to truck on out to Miami."

"Have you thought about staying here?"     

She finally looked at him.  His question had shocked the shit out of her.  What the hell was he saying?  "Why would I want to stay here," she asked incredulously, her eyes nearly bugging out of her head.  "What?  You need a fuck buddy around in case your princess says no?"

He shook his head.  Of course, she was only spitting out her words in such a fashion because she needed that defense mechanism.  Incredible.  After everything, she still sought out his buttons.  "Jonella, you know that's not what I meant.  I told you so that you'll know you have that option available.  That is, if you want it."

"Thanks for the sentiment, but no thanks.  I don't want to stay here," she said stubbornly before she turned away again.

"Care to tell me why?"

She shook her head.  "What is this?  Twenty fucking questions?  No, Frank, I don't care to tell you why.  It's none of your fucking business.  It's rainy here, yucky in the winter, steamy in the summer, and stinky twenty-four seven.  Miami is nice year round.  Sandy beaches, the ocean, and well-hung men."

"Drug traffickers, the Mexican mob, it's fairly close to Castro, and it's damn far away."

She snorted.  "I can handle all three quite well.  You're right, it's far way, but I think there's an airport there.  It's a fairly modern city."

"I suppose it is," he said.  

"Can we not talk about this," she asked suddenly.  "It's weirding me out."

"A lot of things have been weirding you out lately.  Could that be your reasoning for wanting Miami," he asked pointedly.

"You think you know me so well, don't you?"  She looked at him again.  He was still gazing at her steadily.  "Well, you don't.  Stay out of my head and I'll stay out of yours."

"Sorry, I'm already there, as are you, and you're wrong.  I do know you, that's the thing, isn't it?  I know you better than anyone has ever known you."  He settled back on the bed and put his arms behind his head.  "The offer still stands any time you want to take it."

"Are you pulling my leg?"

This time, he refused to look at her.  "Didn't we do that earlier?  The other thing, the _staying_ thing, was legitimate.  You do whatever you want to do."

"I will," she stated flatly.  "Don't worry about that."

*  *  *

Early the next morning, Gordon Thomas rose from bed and flicked on the television.  He had a great desire to check out the opinion polls.  Thus far, he was hands down the victor.  He could almost taste the presidency.  _Two people were found dead early this morning inside a downtown apartment building.  _Thomas turned around, suddenly interested in more than the opinion polls.  _It appears that the couple was gunned down as they slept.  Only one victim has been identified at this time, Frank Donovan_.  He snapped off the television before the newscaster could continue to yammer.  Finally.  Weiz had moved in and did what he was supposed to do.  It didn't take a brain surgeon to realize that the 'other' victim was Jonella Paxton.  He snagged his phone and dialed a number.  After listening to a dozen rings, he almost slammed the phone down.  However, he hesitated.  

"Bobby," a gruff voice said.

"I see by the news report this morning that you finally did your job.  Congratulations.  When are you going to bring over the proof?"

"Let's meet this evening around six at the usual place."

"Perfect.  Bring multiple copies, would you?  I'd like to keep a couple for Rodney.  Would you mind?"

"Not at all.  See you there, Thomas."


	11. Mr Vice President Come On Down

**MR. VICE PRESIDENT, COME ON DOWN!**

The pictures were bright and graphic.  They had definitely been worth the trip to Chicago.  Thomas saw two bodies tangled together on a bed.  They were covered in blood and gore.  For a long moment, he stared down at the photos as if they transfixed him.  If the truth were known, they _did_.  With Donovan's blood, he saw vengeance for Rodney's death.  He wasn't sure anymore if he were motivated by his fear of discovery or grief.  Wow.  Finally.  The bastard was dead.  He had tried having him killed legitimately by ensuring that he was on death row, but his plans were thwarted.  He supposed Donovan hadn't gotten so lucky this time.  He looked up at Weiz and smiled crookedly.  He had done a superb job.

*  *  *

Donovan, Jake, Alex, and Pax were strategically placed throughout the building, ducking behind stacks of piled up boxes and old discarded furniture.  Apparently, this building was some type of an old storage facility.  They were watching and waiting.  Although it was obvious to all that the VP had ordered the hit, they couldn't move in just yet.  Donovan obsessively called out to his agents in sharp, harsh whispers.  He had allowed Pax to separate from him, and he thought his move was stupid.  He didn't trust her, didn't think she could hold out long enough for a surprise attack.  Damn her stubborn ass, but she wanted a piece of the VP.  She hadn't made her desire a secret.  The only thought that relieved him was that she was unarmed [or he damn well hoped so].  

"Wow, Weizmulder, I'm impressed.  Did you blow them to bits or what?  The woman?  She's Jonella Paxton, right?"  Weiz said nothing, he simply nodded.  "I heard of this woman many times, but I'm really amazed to note that she and Donovan were messing around.  Very, very interesting.  Well, Agent Weizmulder, your job is done."

Weiz watched as the VP turned away from him and began to walk toward the exit.  Before he had progressed four full steps, Weiz cleared his throat.  "By the way, Thomas.  That was some serious shit that Donovan got involved with.  You know something?  When I got to digging around searching for shit on the guy, I found a bunch of these itty-bitty diskettes.  Pretty weird, huh?" 

Thomas stopped walking and turned back to face Weiz.  "Diskettes?  Really?  What was on them?  His collection of porno pics?"

He shook his head.  "No.  Something much, much worse.  Seems that you got into some shady shit, Gordy.  Treasonous shit.  Funny how another man went down for it, at least for a while, anyway.  You ordered me to take ol' Donovan out when I should be taking _you_ out."

"What does it matter now," Thomas asked.  "Donovan is dead, as is his girlfriend.  End of story."

"I think not," a voice said from the depths of the room.*

Oh hell no.  It couldn't be.  He was looking down at the dead son-of-a-bitch.  His eyes grew large and he swallowed hard when he saw Donovan approaching slowly, cautiously, taking careful aim with his Glock.  "I'll be damned," Thomas said with obvious amazement tainting his voice.

"Yes you be," Pax said from behind Donovan.

"Get back," Donovan hissed under his breath.  

"Fuck you, Spankie.  I'm staying right here," she whispered back.

"Move, Weizmulder," Donovan snarled.  Weiz moved and moved quickly.  "Very good game you had going for a while, Gordon.  You failed, didn't you?"

Thomas sneered at the man.  "What?  Did you get fucked up the ass by some con, Donovan?  Is that why you're so cranky?"

Donovan said nothing.  He kept a steady, murderous gaze on the VP.  His finger itched to pull the trigger, but he hesitated.  He wouldn't allow his anger, his hunger for vengeance to force him to react stupidly.  He had to think of his daughter.  "It seems as if you'll finally see what a cellblock looks like, right Mr. VP?"

He shrugged.  "No so fast, Agent Donovan."

They watched as Thomas suddenly sank down.  It almost seemed as if he had stepped into a pothole and lost a couple of inches in height.  He whipped out a pistol and straightened up within nanoseconds.  Pax heard a tremendous roar issue out of Donovan as he yelled, _DROP IT_.  Thomas didn't listen.  He fired a shot as the rest of the team ducked for cover.  Donovan barely had time to fire his own shot when he felt a sudden crushing thump on his chest.  Vaguely, he thought, _I've been hit.  Goddamn it, I've been hit_.  Thomas aimed again, but before he could squeeze off a shot, the room filled with a loud cracking noise reporting from Weizmulder's custom made semi-automatic.  It was the gun with the funky pointed bullets that nearly sent Pax to her reward.  _Hit.  Hit.  I've been hit_, Donovan thought wonderingly as he sank to the hard concrete floor.  His last thought before he passed out was, _Damn, that fucking hurt_.  In the thick fog of confusion, he heard dozens of voices around him, some screaming, some not.  One of the screaming voices was Pax.

When the shooting started, Pax had tried to wrench Jake's gun away from him, but he wouldn't give it over.  She was fucking unarmed and she had a very clear shot of the psycho vice president.  Goddamn.  Why hadn't she snagged a gun?  _Damn you, Frankie, damn you_, she thought right before he touched his chest and fell to the floor.  At that point, she didn't care about anything or anyone that wasn't Frank Donovan.  She felt hands and arms pulling her back, keeping her out of the line of fire.  However, by that time, it was all over.  Weiz's pointy bullets had done their job well.  As if her feet were mired in mud, it took Pax an hour and a half to reach Donovan's body that was no more than two feet from where she stood.  His eyes were half-lidded and rolled up in the back of his head.  She saw the hole in his shirt but there was no blood.  Panicked, her rationality was nil.  She couldn't think.  Her brain was nothing more than a large quivering organ.  She went down on her knees beside him and placed his head into her lap.  

"Come on, Frank, wake up you fucker," she said.  Her hand smacked his cheek, but it didn't faze him.  "You shit, fucking open your eyes!"  [_Pax?  Is she crying?  Is her voice thick with tears?  What the hell?  Goddamn that slap hurt.  First my chest is crushed and now she's trying to break my jaw.  Silly Pax._]  "Frank?  _Frank_!  Won't you open your damn eyes?  Do it, goddamn you.  Don't go out like this.  Damn it, you witless fuck," she said, choking on her tears.  "Why in goddamn hell didn't you just let me take it?  You witless, witless fuck."  She smacked his cheek again.  "How am I going to fucking explain this to your kid?"  [_Ow.  That hurt.  Would you please stop popping my jaw?  Gimme a break, you she bitch, I've been fucking shot._]  "You son-of-a-bitch," she whispered.  "You can't do this to me, you bastard.  You win.  Goddamn you.  You win.  I love you."

_Holy hell.  Did she say that?  _She jumped when she heard a pained chuckle escaping him.  "Bullet proof, under the shirt," he said.  She backed away and looked at him incredulously.  She thought she had been speaking to a corpse.  "Jonella, I knew it.  I knew it!"

She gave a disgusted little cry and moved, his head bonking onto the concrete floor.  He groaned again, but laughed a little at the same time.  "You bastard," she cried indignantly.  "You sneaky, sneaky bastard.  I take it back.  I don't.  I _don't_."   

"Too late," he said as he sat up with a grimace of pain on his face.  He absently caressed the back of his head.  "Too late now," he said, a wicked little gleam in his eyes.

"Fuck you, Spankie," she yelled before she walked away from him.

*  *  *

It took a couple of days to sort out the mess the VP had made.  Almost everyone walked away happy, but not happy.  Mixed and emotion were the buzzwords of the day.  Weizmulder walked away with his 'unit,' and Donovan's name was finally cleared.  Yet, there were disturbing issues floating about as well.  The death of Gordon Thomas wasn't something any of them could celebrate, of course, but somehow, his death brought relief to Donovan.  He felt awkward feeling and thinking that, but he did.  He had walked around with that horrible black mark on his record far too long.  The CIA had set him up nicely, two ways at once.  It was over now, over and done with.  There were still a few things left undone.

Donovan sustained a bruised rib from the shooting, but nothing more serious than that.  Yet, what happened between he and Pax in those first few scary moments played on his nerves.  However, neither of them broached the subject again.  One reason for that, of course, was that Pax hadn't been around.  She wouldn't see or speak to him.  He didn't blame her.  He had [sorta kinda] played a nasty trick on her.  He hadn't necessarily faked the pain or the unconsciousness, but he had actually been so surprised by her reaction that he was rendered speechless.  He had never seen her like that before, and he liked it.  It was strange, but he did.  The last day she was in town, he made it a point to go to her hotel room to see her off.  She had lapsed into her bizarre quiet mood again, so he didn't push it.  She consented to his company and allowed him to take her to the airport.

When they arrived, the two of them didn't say much to each other and it was something that Donovan didn't like.  Every time he tried to talk to her, she would either ignore him or run off to inspect some stupid magazine rack.  Eventually, he grew tired of the avoidance.  He wasn't one who tolerated it very much.  He approached her as she browsed through a stack of magazines.  He took hold of her arm and turned her to face him.  "Jonella, please.  Before you leave, I want to say something to you."  When she didn't protest or start cursing him, he said, "Thank you for everything you did.  I wouldn't have gotten through these last couple of days if you hadn't been around."

She sighed and rolled her eyes.  "Whatever, Frank.  You don't have to thank me."

He shook his head.  "Oh, but I do."  Without giving her an opportunity to speak, he lowered his head a bit and kissed her.

Pax broke it a moment later when she heard her flight called.  She turned away and began making her way toward the proper gate.  He stood back and watched her for the briefest of moments.  He had forgotten to say something else to her; it consisted of a few words he had never uttered to her.  

"Jonella," he called.

She stopped and turned toward him.  "What is it _now_," she asked.

"I love you, too," he said.

His admission startled her a little, but didn't rattle her much.  Pax smiled a little before flipping him off.  "Do you think I'm going to believe that, Frank?"

Donovan laughed and shook his head.  "Yes, I think you do."

"Look me up whenever you're in Miami."

He gazed at her intensely, steadily.  "Count on it."

Without another word, she turned back around and disappeared.  He stayed and looked after her until her plane took off. 

*  *  *

Donovan answered his door to Remy and Stasia.  He wasn't surprised to see either of them.  She had called after he returned from the airport, asking if she could bring the baby to him.  It had taken him half a second to accept.  He stood back and noticed that Remy had carried in more of Stasia's things than she would need for a few days.  He thought it odd, but said nothing.  Remy set their daughter down on the floor.

"What's going on, Remy?"

She crossed her arms over her chest and sighed deeply.  "If you're not okay with this, you can tell me, and we'll call it even.  I still want to move away from here, and what has happened in the last few days has pushed me further toward this.  I won't take Stasia with me.  As much as it kills me to be away from her, I'd rather leave her here than tear you apart while I look around for a new place.  So, what I'd like to do is allow you all the time you want with her.  Keep her, love her, and remember how she came about, recall the love that was there.  Think about it and make up your mind.  Even if you decide to choose and it's not me, I don't want to punish you.  Maybe being with her and thinking about those things will help you.  Maybe it won't.  I don't know.  Do you want this?"

Donovan reached down to pick up the baby.  He hugged her to him and kissed her cheek.  "Yes.  I want her to stay.  I've always wanted her to stay."

Remy went to Stasia and kissed her cheek.  "Mommy will be back soon, baby," she said.

"Bye bye, Mommy," Stasia said.

*  *  *

It was around midnight when Donovan was roused out of bed by a gentle rapping at his door.  He climbed out of bed and shrugged into his robe.  He hoped the noise didn't disturb Stasia.  He padded silently to the door and stuck his eye up to the peephole.  _What is she doing back_, he thought.  He opened the door and barely had time to breathe before she threw herself into his arms and kissed him.  He felt himself responding to her every touch.  He had to get her inside quickly before they awakened the other woman in his life.

FINIS 

____________________

*A reference to a line from "The Mummy Returns."  Ar-death-bay.  Need I explain?  HA!


End file.
